At 2:47 AM, the first cry pierced through the quiet of their bedroom. Lucy's eyes snapped open immediately, her maternal radar already identifying the source—Evan's room, and it wasn't his usual "I'm hungry" cry or his "I lost my pacifier" whimper. This was the distressed wail of a sick baby.
Tim stirred beside her, but Lucy was already pushing back the covers, ignoring the protest from her bandaged hands and wrapped ankle.
"I've got him," she whispered, padding quickly down the hallway toward the nursery.
She found Evan standing in his crib, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, his little body shaking with sobs. The smell that hit her when she opened the door told her immediately what had happened.
"Oh, baby boy," Lucy murmured softly, reaching down to lift him from the crib. "It's okay, Mama's here."
Evan's cries quieted to hiccupping whimpers the moment he was in her arms, his hot little face pressed against her shoulder. Lucy could feel the dampness of his pajamas and knew they were in for a complete outfit change, crib sheet change, and probably a bath.
"Let's get you cleaned up, sweetheart," she whispered, carrying him to the changing table while humming softly under her breath. It was a song she'd made up when Emma was a baby, nonsensical lyrics about moonbeams and love that somehow always worked to calm upset children.
Twenty minutes later, with Evan in fresh pajamas and his crib stripped and remade, Lucy settled into the rocking chair with him. His fever had spiked again, and she could feel the heat radiating from his small body as she held him close.
"Shh, baby, Mama's got you," she whispered, rocking gently back and forth. Evan's breathing gradually evened out, his grip on her pajama shirt relaxing as he finally drifted back to sleep.
Lucy had just managed to transfer him back to his crib when another cry echoed through the house—this time from Emma's room, and it was the kind of heartbroken sobbing that made Lucy's chest tight with sympathy.
She hurried down the hall to find Tim already in Emma's room, sitting on the edge of her bed and trying to comfort their daughter. But Emma was having none of it.
"I want Mama!" Emma sobbed, pushing weakly at Tim's hands when he tried to feel her forehead. "I don't feel good! I want my mama!"
"Emma, sweetheart, Daddy's here," Tim said gently, his voice patient despite the exhaustion Lucy could hear in it. "Let me help you feel better."
"No! I want Mama!" Emma's voice rose to a wail that Lucy knew would wake Evan if she didn't intervene quickly.
"I'm here, baby girl," Lucy said softly from the doorway, and Emma's tear-streaked face immediately turned toward her.
"Mama!" Emma reached for her desperately, and Lucy moved quickly to the bed, gathering her daughter into her arms despite the protest from her sore ankle.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Lucy asked, pressing her lips to Emma's forehead to check her temperature while smoothing her sweat-dampened hair.
"My tummy hurts really bad," Emma whimpered against Lucy's shoulder. "And I feel yucky."
"I know, baby. I know it feels awful," Lucy murmured, rocking Emma gently while making eye contact with Tim over their daughter's head. He looked defeated, and Lucy's heart ached for him. It wasn't his fault that sick children often wanted their mothers—it was just one of those inexplicable things about childhood illness.
Tim started to stand, clearly intending to let Lucy handle Emma's care, but before he could fully get to his feet, Evan's cries started up again from the nursery.
"I'll get him," Tim said quietly, but Lucy could see the resignation in his expression.
Lucy wanted to warn him, wanted to tell him that Evan had been particularly clingy to her tonight, but Tim was already heading down the hall with determined steps.
She focused on Emma, who was finally calming down in her arms. "Better?" Lucy asked softly.
"Mm-hmm," Emma mumbled, her voice thick with exhaustion and congestion. "Don't leave me, Mama."
"I'm not going anywhere, baby girl," Lucy promised, settling more comfortably on Emma's bed and pulling the blankets around both of them.
From down the hall, she could hear Tim's voice, gentle and patient as he tried to soothe Evan. But instead of the crying quieting, it seemed to get louder and more distressed.
"Mama! Mama! Mama!" Evan's wails echoed through the house, each cry sounding more desperate than the last.
Lucy closed her eyes, torn between the daughter who was finally peaceful in her arms and the baby who was clearly inconsolable without her. She could hear Tim trying everything—bouncing, shushing, singing, even the silly voice he used to make the kids laugh during bath time. Nothing was working.
"Mama, why is Evan crying so loud?" Emma asked, lifting her head from Lucy's shoulder.
"He's sick too, sweetheart. Sometimes when babies don't feel good, they just want their mamas," Lucy explained gently.
The crying from the nursery was getting more frantic, and Lucy could hear the frustration creeping into Tim's voice as he tried increasingly desperate tactics to calm their son.
"MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!" Evan's screams were now continuous, barely pausing for breath.
Emma winced at the sound. "He's really sad," she observed with the matter-of-fact empathy of a seven-year-old.
"He is really sad," Lucy agreed, making a decision. "Emma, can you be a big girl and stay in your bed while Mama helps Evan for just a minute?"
"But I want you to stay with me," Emma said, her grip tightening on Lucy's pajama shirt.
"I know, baby. And I will stay with you. But Evan needs Mama right now too, and Daddy can't make him feel better."
From the nursery, they could hear Tim's voice, strained with exhaustion and defeat: "Buddy, please. Daddy's trying to help. Please stop crying."
But Evan's response was only to cry harder, his voice becoming hoarse from the effort.
Lucy looked down at Emma, who was watching her with those wise eyes that sometimes seemed far too old for her young face.
"Go help Evan, Mama," Emma said quietly. "I'll be okay for a little bit."
Lucy's heart swelled with pride for her brave, compassionate daughter. "Thank you for being such a good big sister," she whispered, pressing a kiss to Emma's forehead before tucking her back under the covers.
As Lucy limped down the hallway toward the nursery, she could hear Tim's voice, broken with exhaustion and something that sounded dangerously close to tears:
"I'm sorry, buddy. I'm trying. I'm really trying. But you just want your mama, don't you?"
YOU ARE READING
The babysitter
RandomBefore joining the academy, she was short of money. She asked her parents but obviously they shut her out. Lucy Chen found a babysitting job that is getting paid 30 dollars an hour.
