"As long as I don't have to move, I could pretty much do anything."

Sol was sick in bed with the stomach flu this week, and it might sound horrible, but I've revealed far worse about myself here, so I'll just come right out and say it: I kind of liked it. It's not that I took pleasure in his discomfort, or enjoyed cleaning vomit off the bathroom wall. Those parts of it were sad and disgusting. No, what I liked was his stillness; the part of him that I hardly ever see anymore. He's always so busy, running somewhere, bouncing around, flinging his body from one end of an enclosed space to the next. Even when he isn't actually moving his mind and his mouth are speeding off on a train of thought that carries him out of earshot of my voice.

While confined to his bed, Sol preferred the sound of my voice to anything else. He let me cuddle up next to him and wrap him in my arms like I could when he was smaller and didn't have so many other more interesting places to go. For the past couple of years he's needed his daddy more than he has me, so it was like a little gift when he sent Adam away Tuesday night and called for me. He's feeling better now, and making his way back to busy again, but I caught a glimpse of that stillness, that baby boy I sometimes miss. Now the trick is learning to recognize him, stomach flu or no.