Stolen night time cuddles, nom noms, and a new dad's birthday.

Right now my handsome lover is rocking our beautiful little love cub. This is the first time the lion baby hasn't nursed himself to sleep.

I wish I could take a picture without waking the sleeping beauty. Instead, here's a picture of him hanging with his favourite things in the world, his nom noms.

It's his dad's birthday tomorrow. Leo and I will hang out at home while Dad goes golfing, and then in the evening the little lion will hang out with his Nana and Grandpa (my parents) while we go out for dinner with Geoff's mom. We're going to his work for dinner, so I know it will be delicious. I have 15 oz of freshly expressed milk, and over 50 oz in the freezer, so maybe I'll even treat myself to a caesar.

I'm excited to go out for dinner but I'm reluctant to leave my little cutie with my mother, even though Leo knows her better than anyone other than his dad and I. She's fantastic with him and I know he'll be fine, but he is all I think about when we're apart. I'm not worried about him, I'm worried about me.

Everyone says I need to take time away from my beautiful son, but I don't want to. I love him so intensely, it's like my heart stays with him when I leave. It's like the most intense, brand-new puppy-love feeling in the world. He gives me purpose and joy. Why should I want to leave him?

I'm intensely jealous of how he stole our evening cuddles away tonight. I need to learn to let go a bit. But you've seen the picture, how could someone want to let go of that?

My birthday present was my son receiving a spinal tap.

(Not really, but the events did overlap.)

I'm not entirely certain why I haven't posted in weeks. Life sure can get away from me sometimes! I've been busy with the Little Lion, who is a bigger handful by the day. He's all smiles and coos, and very fiery when he doesn't get what he wants immediately. I can't really complain, as he sleeps an eight hour stretch nearly every night and is just so cheerful.

It hasn't been all sunshine and daisies, however. When the hubby and I woke up on the morning of the 6th, we immediately knew something wasn't right. At the Little Lion's 2 AM feeding, he seemed quite upset and unwilling to nurse. I figured his gums were bothering him, so we just settled back into bed. When we woke up at 6 AM, Leo was whimpering, moaning and sputtering in ways we had never heard before. He still would not nurse, and seemed to be in extreme pain. We took him to the doctor as soon as they opened at 9AM and they sent us immediately to see a pediatrician the emergency department at the hospital. The form she gave us to take along was covered in illegible doctor's scrawl, but I was able to make out the word encephalitis. I think my heart stopped for a moment. His fontanel pulsed visibly under the thin veil of strawberry hair.

It felt like we waited for years with our moaning, feverish babe curled up in my arms. Engorged, I hunched over a sink and cried as my milk and tears swirled down the drain. The pediatrician was very kind. Leo was sick, very sick. Meningitis? Admitted. Prepped for IV. You may not want to watch, they said. I didn't. I'm not sure I could see through my tears. They assured me that he wouldn't be aware of my absence. I'm not sure how assuring that was. Shaking and moaning, both my child in the circus-mural room and I in the cheerful beach-themed consultation room. I could hear the needle going in. A nurse I hadn't met before came in to say we should leave for a while; Little Lion would be getting a spinal tap. A fucking spinal tap. My baby.

We spent three days in the hospital, my beautiful boy hooked up to too many beeping machines and bags of fluids and medicines. I slept with him in my lap every night; he would scream and writhe without me.

The fluid from his lumbar puncture was flown to a lab in The Big City. His brain wasn't swelling. Sigh of relief. They still don't know what happened.

On the second day, my 21st birthday, Leo began to smile again. Everything began to improve. My heart healed as he became himself again. I don't know what to say. There was no climactic moment when everything changed. He just slowly gained his strength back, began to again nurse with a burning passion. On the third day, with no diagnosis other than a possible stomach virus, we were given the OK to go home.

My heart aches just thinking about it. Perhaps that's why my writing is so jumbled. All I know is that my son is healthy and he's in my arms. We're home and we're OK. There is nothing more we need.

(Picture was taken the day after we were discharged.)