After getting my IV of coffee this morning, I set to work paying bills online and balancing my checkbook and other thrilling activities that are pretty mindless. Around 730 am, I realized that Pete wasn't awake yet, even though he's usually up and about long before 7 am.
Despite nearly 9 years of mommydom, I had a momentary wave of hysteria pass through my body as I thought that possibly something terrible had happened.
And then I instantly calmed myself by remembering that he's been skimping on naps recently (my fault, not his), and his poor little body was just trying to make up for his missed rests.
Then I thought of Jenny throwing up in her sleep while lying on her back. That sort of a thing killed Elvis; God was looking out for her last night, I am sure. And then I remembered that Billy had thrown up before bed and how my husband's stomach was upset and I had told him (around 3 am) that we obviously had some sort of virus in the house.
What if Pete had the virus too? What if he had thrown up in his sleep? What if he hadn't been as lucky as Jenny? Those cold fingers of fear encircled my heart and began to slowly squeeze it.
I had not yet showered. I knew that if I went into his room and peeked in on him, he would wake up and it would be another half hour until I got in the shower. I knew that if I went into his room and he were dead, I likely would not get a shower today at all! And what could I really change about his vital signs by postponing my shower? At the very least, I wouldn't be apologizing to the police for my appearance and smell if I took a shower first. It would be one less stressor in the tragic situation, knowing that my armpits were powder-fresh.
And so I took my shower, and when I was done, Petey was happily playing with Fritz downstairs. Fritz said he woke up one minute after I went upstairs.
It's a good thing I didn't debate much longer.