Saturday, May 19, 2012
When Ivan was a wild and exuberant two-year-old, he would jump on and off the bed in an effort to make me get up. "You can’t sleep Now. I want to play; I want treats; I want attention; I want to go outside." Finally, he’d give up and sigh, as if to say “you are such a boring mom,” and he’d snuggle obligingly, molding himself to me under the blankets until he was comfortable. Snuggles from the Munchkins are very therapeutic, and I think they go a long way to make convalescing more pleasant.
Dasa has always been a faithful companion and loyal snuggler, patiently napping beside the convalescent, her kind little heart as soft as her fur. Nestling under the blankets with her sweet little body huddled against me is some of the best medicine ever.
Ivan and Dasa have both become dedicated little nappers, agreeably sleeping with me when I’m sick. I usually have a munchkin on each side, blankets pulled up over us. If I must be sick, at least I have my two favorite nursemaids taking care of me.
They are devoted until there’s a rustle in the kitchen and then they’re gone. Out from under the blankets and away in an instant. They eventually come back. Ivan paws insistently at the blankets until I lift them up. Dasa waits for an invitation to hop onto the bed and settle into her spot.
Dasa stays with me, patiently snuggling until it’s time to eat. Then I really need to rally long enough to feed her. I can’t expect her to starve, for heaven’s sake. As long as I occasionally stagger into the back yard with them and provide food on schedule, she’s a devoted, undemanding little angel of mercy. Of course, should I weakly attempt to eat something nourishing, she’d steal it out of my hand in a heartbeat.