Image credit: Photo by Big Grey Mare on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons

"Honey?" Mark has been putting the kids to sleep.  I thought he'd fallen asleep with them, but now he pops his head into the living room. "Austen says his stomach hurts and he can't get to sleep.  Can you come take a look and see what you think?  I'm not sure if it's serious or not, and I'm pretty wiped out.  I could use a second opinion and some help."

It's 11 p.m. and Austen should be asleep by now, but it's also Halloween and he's had a few stimulating and exciting days of leading (for an eight-year-old) a wild life of relatively late nights and parties.  I suspect he's overtired.

"What's up, buddy?"  Austen's in the bathroom, moaning.

"I'm scared I'm going to throw up!"  This is a big fear of Austen's, and mine; we both hate to vomit.

"Do you feel like you're going to throw up now?"

"Well...  no..."

"Does your tummy hurt right now?"

"No, but it was hurting.  And I'm scared it's going to hurt again!"

"I think you're tired, buddy.  Sometimes that can make your stomach hurt.  Let's go lie down."

"But I'm too scared.  What if I throw up in my sleep?"

"You won't throw up in your sleep.  If you have to throw up, your body will get so uncomfortable, it will wake up."

"Really?"

"Really."

He walks into the bedroom and lies down.

"Now my stomach hurts!" he cries.

"Where does it hurt?"  He puts his hand right in the middle of his stomach.  It seems like stomach cramps coming and going, which could mean he's coming down with a stomach flu.  Or could mean he's just tired and anxious.  But even if he is sick, exhaustion and anxiety aren't helping.  I exchange glances with Mark and try to clue him in to this thought process without saying words like "sick" and "stomach virus" which will make Austen more anxious.

But Austen is thinking the words anyway.  "I don't want to be sick!" he screams, "What if I throw up?  I don't want to throw up!"

"Do you feel like you need to throw up?"

"No, but I'm still scared!"

"I think," I venture, "that you being scared is part of what's making your tummy hurt.  It's making all the muscles tight.  And sometimes being tired makes people queasy.  It makes me queasy.  And you've been up late and had some exciting days because of Halloween.  So we need to relax the muscles and make them looser so you can sleep.  Then you'll feel better."

"But how?  How can I relax?  I can't!" he sobs.

"Remember when you were little and I used to count you to sleep?"  If I were to sing to Austen, you'd think I was killing him — the screams would send the neighbors off to call Child Protective Services — but he has always found strings of numbers soothing.  So where other mothers would ease their children off to sleep with lullabies, I would softly whisper numbers.  I'd count by ones or twos or threes.  Or recite all the powers of two up into the millions.  Or square numbers.  On and on into the night.  Austen knew them all by heart, but I don't have his memory and had to write the more complex sequences out on a piece of paper and read them.

Austen nods.

"Just close your eyes, and listen to the counting.  Ok, buddy?"

"Ok."

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5..."  I hold my hand on his stomach, radiating warmth. "6, 7, 8..." He closes his eyes.  His stomach isn't rumbling, and he's relaxing, which makes me think it probably is just tiredness.  I keep counting past one hundred.  His eyelids are still flickering but his breathing is softer.  I get all the way up to 175 before I'm certain he's asleep.  A few minutes later he half opens his eyes and mumbles, "It worked!"  And then falls asleep again.

The next morning, when he wakes up, I ask, "How's your stomach feeling?"

"Great!" he says with a smile, "you counted to 150 and it worked."

Sometimes a kiss can fix a boo boo.  Sometimes a lullaby (or a lullaby of sorts) can soothe a child to sleep.  And at times like those, I just love this mama gig.