There was a time in my life when the word "spontaneous" evoked images of weekend adventures, last minute dinner plans, spur of the moment get-togethers with friends. Now, when I think "spontaneous" I almost always think of it in terms of communication as in unprompted, unscripted, spontaneous utterances from David.
David and I both had the stomach flu this past week. It has been a long week filled with laundry and Lysol, saltines and 7-UP. I am sure that I was short on patience because I felt lousy, David was grumpy and Andrew was simply trying to fly under the radar (or perhaps below the germs), occasionally inquiring whether or not I was planning to feed him ever again and what parts of the house had been disinfected. Michael was—wait for it—leaving town on a business trip.
When you have a baby, you realize that there will be a time when you have to play super sleuth to figure out where it hurts, but by the time you have a six-year-old, you do not expect to still be guessing. For six years, I have been waiting for the time that David could tell me what was wrong, where it hurts while I race after him, looking for the source of the bleeding, or waiting for a peek in his throat, or trying to stem the traveling tidal wave of vomit.
But, this time I actually heard the words. For the very first time, David looked at me and without any kind of questioning from me said spontaneously, "My tummy churts." Sweet music to my ears—wait, grab the bucket. And then, when I later discovered he had not quite made it to the bathroom on time, he looked at me with tears in his big blue eyes and said, again totally unprompted, "Mom-mom, I horry." Two simple, spontaneous phrases that were more exciting for me than a weekend get-away.