Yanking the car out of traffic, I yell to Aubry, “Find a bag!”
And to my husband, as I toss my cell phone into the passenger seat, “Gotta go!”
Uh oh…we’re out of bags.
“Hold it! You can hold it! I’m coming around! Quick, get out of the car!”
I run around, meeting Greyson on the other side of the car. He is bent over, in someone’s weeded-over gravel driveway.
Between the sobs that wrack his little body, he says, “Mommy, it hurts so much!”
I stand behind him, ready, waiting, hands full of wipes and paper towels, rubbing his back as he coughs. He coughs again, trying harder. Nothing.
After a minute or so, “I feel better. But it still hurts.”
“Do you still feel nauseous?”
I put him back into the car, having him take in deep breaths through his nose and exhale through his mouth. I ask him to close his eyes.
We have two to three minutes more before we arrive at the school drop-off line and I hear Greyson, with a sense of astonishment, state, “Aubry! We’re so connected! I get sick like you do in the car!”
She’s excited too. During the remainder of the ride they talk nonstop about what they have in common. The incident fades at the wonder of another connection between them.
Their perspectives amaze me at times. I have a new stash of gallon sized zip-locked bags tucked into the back of each seat…