I'm sitting on his bed, waiting for him to fall asleep. Waiting out the fever. Wishing he was up, running around, but instead he's missing the baseball camp he's waited for all summer.
I never knew before having kids how bad I would feel, when they feel bad. Or how good I'd feel when they round 3rd heading for home.
If I could only bottle up the pang inside and let him drink it, the one that wants so badly for him to feel good, I don't think he'd ever be sick again. If only.