Page 76 of Pooh

I lean into him for a quick kiss and walk my sleepy ass back to the bedroom. Craig is still crashed so I carefully take his temp without waking him. It’s reading 100.8 so it’s not life-threatening but he does have something going on. I pull the door partly closed behind me as I leave the room. I’ve heard stories about new mothers overreacting and I just proved them to be true.

I smell the coffee as I walk into the kitchen and before I’m seated, Pooh is pushing a cup of the life-giving liquid into my hand. I plop down and take a sip. I sit and enjoy my coffee while Pooh is fiddling around at the stove. I’m not paying much attention to anything but trying to wake-up, but then the smell of pancakes hits me. I can hear bacon sizzling and my mouth starts to water.

Setting my cup down, I walk up behind Pooh and wrap my arms around his middle and rest the side of my face against his muscled back. He moves his left arm behind us and pats me on the ass.

“I’m glad you’re here, Pooh. I would’ve freaked and called 911 before thinking to check his temp,” I mumble.

“Geti and I were used to taking care of each other and being around Bella and the twins has given me some knowledge too. You’ll get there, Pips. You might want to go wake him up so we can get the meds and some liquids in him. I’ll get breakfast plated up and pour his juice.” I give him a squeeze and walk away.

As I reenter the bedroom, I see that Craig is still crashed. I pull on a pair of yoga pants and take a seat beside him on the bed. Lifting one of his hands, I feel how warm it is, and say his name. Nothing. I say his name again, a little louder while gently shaking his hand, and I see his eyelids flutter before opening a little.

“Hey, little man. You need to get up. Pooh is making us breakfast and you need to drink some juice.”

“I don’t feel so good. I don’t want to eat.”

“I know you don’t feel good, honey. You have a fever. But you need to drink some juice so you can start to get better. Want me to carry you?”

“Yeah, I don’t feel like walking.”

I pick him up and cuddle him close to my chest while he drops his head on my shoulder. His arms wrap around my neck but they are a little limp. My boy is sick. I carry him to the kitchen and sit him on a stool. He immediately puts his arms on the countertop and drops his head onto them.

Pooh comes around to our side of the counter and drops a hand on the back of Craig’s neck. When Craig lifts his head, Pooh holds a spoon up to his mouth and Craig dutifully opens his mouth for the medicine. Pooh then hands him a glass of orange juice and Craig sips a few times from it before setting it down and dropping his head into his arms again.

“Want to try to eat a pancake?” Pooh asks him.

“Not yet. I’m not hungry. My tummy feels funny and my head hurts.”

Pooh walks off and then slides a plate of pancakes and strips of bacon in front of me along with a glass of juice and a refilled coffee cup.

“I’ll save your pancakes and you can have them later when you feel better. But you should drink more juice, buddy,” Pooh tells Craig.

“Thank you, Pooh.”

Pooh fixes his plate and takes a seat on the other side of Craig and dives in. I haven’t said much because I’m too busy stuffing my face. Pooh can cook! The pancakes are light and fluffy and the bacon crisp. Just how I like both of them.

After a few minutes of silence, Craig lifts his head and drinks more juice. He notices his plate sitting off to the side and Pooh gets a half smile.

“You made Mickey Mouse pancakes for me. My mom did that once, but hers didn’t have eyes like yours do,” Craig says.

“The eyes are chocolate chips. My sister used to make them that way for me and I loved them. They were one of my favorite foods,” Pooh answers.

“That’s rad. Thanks, Pooh. I’ll eat them when I feel better. Can I go back to bed now?”

“Another sip of juice and you can go back to sleep for now,” I tell him.

Craig drinks the rest of his juice and trudges back to his room. I look at Pooh and see the soft look in his eyes as he watches Craig walk away. This man was made to be a father, big brother, or favorite uncle.

“The meds should lower his temperature but if it keeps creeping back up, we should run him to the doctor,” Pooh states while finishing up his breakfast.

“I don’t have a pediatrician for him yet. I’ll make some calls.”

Pooh pulls his phone from his back pocket and shoots off a text. When he gets one back, he grins. His beautiful hazel eyes meet mine and he says, “Trudy is texting you the name and number of Bella’s doctor. She said if you need help today with Craig, she’s off work and can watch him. She also said that Bella came down with the flu last night, so that’s probably what Craig has too.”

“What’s there to grin about in that text?” I ask wondering.

“She also said that Axel woke up sick early this morning and he thinks he’s suffering from morning sickness because Bailey is pregnant. Sympathetic morning sickness he called it. No one is telling him that Bella, and now Craig, have what is probably just the flu.”

I laugh at that and make a note to myself to not give up the secret if I see Axel today.

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