Rosey has been fighting a cold. Or a virus, although I really think her vomiting (which has only happened a few times, and only seems to happen just before bed) is mostly due to nasal drip irritating her sinuses.
Poor Wosey. She's bright-eyed and bushy-tailed during the day, and falls apart at night.
Whatever the reason, she hasn't been feeling her best. And a fragile five year old is fun to have around.
Sometimes Bear and I can pass off the sudden, inexplicable tears or temper as tiredness or hunger or too-wound-up or the phase of the moon, but sometimes my lovely baby girl shows her hidden core of evil and we all trip over each other trying to get out of the way.
Because like a howler monkey, that girl can spit.
(Not, uh, that she actually does. That would be awful.)
I thought all this tempestuousness was due to the day-to-day stress of being five and having school end soon (and there's a wee bit o'drama eddying around about R and one of her friends)and the summer stretching out in front of her and there are all these changes, you see, how on earth would she not be stressed? but after she burst into tears last night in the shower I finally got her to tell me what the matter was.
Rosey is afraid she's dying.
Because she was really sick, (and here I cocked my head and thought Really? Sniffles and a little vomit make you really sick?? I need to call in to work more often) and Nana and Papa got really sick, and then they died.
Oh my sweet girl.
We had a long cuddle and a talk about diabetes and how Nana and Papa were both sick, sick in different ways but still with so many health problems, and how yes, someday we all die, but not today, and not soon, but someday, and please don't be frightened, sweetheart.
And there were some sniffles and clasping hugs and then she tried to get me to promise that I wouldn't die before she had kids of her own and I said that sounded reasonable to me.
And just like that, the storm was over.