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Will had been in preschool for only a week before he came home with the chicken pox. The school nurse had called Bridget at work only an hour after she had dropped Will off, saying he needed to be brought home immediately and made a doctor’s appointment. Bridget had then called Mark, all in a tizzy.
“Mark, you need to go get Will at school. The nurse says he's come down with the chicken pox and I can't leave--we're about to have the prime minister on and everything will fall apart if I leave. Is there anyway you can?”
Mark pinched the bridge of his nose, holding the phone in the crook of his shoulder. He looked down at the leather planner in front of him--it was chock full of little things (meetings, lunch appointments, visits to chambers), but nothing large or important enough to warrant him skipping out on their son. “I can go get him,” Mark said as he closed the planner. “Let me double check with my assistant and just let him know I won't be in for the rest of the day.”
Mark heard Bridget give a huge sigh of relief on the other end of the line. “Thank you so much, Mark. You're an angel. I'll take off tomorrow to bring him to the doctor’s.” Mark smiled and said, “I can do it, too, if you need me to.” He could hear the smile in Bridget’s voice over the phone as she replied, “My, how much has changed in these last few years. Thanks again, love. If you need me, I’m just a phone call away.” They exchanged quick “I love you’s” (the kind that come with comfort and confidence), and hung up the phone.
After letting his assistant know that he was going to be out for the rest of the day, Mark make a quick pit stop at the pharmacy to grab some oatmeal bath and calamine lotion. He also couldn’t help grabbing some popsicles in William’s favorite flavor before he checked out, knowing that he’d have to keep him hydrated (which was a bear to accomplish when he wasn’t sick). He quickly paid for all of the supplies, loaded them into the SUV, and made his way to Will’s preschool.
As Mark pulled in front of Chelsea Pre-Prep & Nursery, he couldn’t help noticing the sight of a child’s face pressed against the glass of one of the outer windows. Upon closer look, the smushed face with its nostrils splayed against the glass was his own son. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, getting out of the car. Will’s face on the other side of the glass lit up as he saw Mark approaching, and he happily started banging on the glass going, “Da! Da!” with much gusto. Bridget’s son, through and through, Mark thought to himself. He couldn’t help thinking about himself at this age. Stoic beyond reproach and terribly shy. Thank god he didn’t get any of that from me.
The secretary behind the desk directed Mark to the nurse’s office, where he found William eagerly awaiting him to reappear. “Da!” he exclaimed upon seeing Mark, flinging himself towards his father and wrapping his tiny arms around Mark’s legs. Mark put a hand into Will’s curls and gave them an affectionate rub. “Hi, buddy,” he said before leaning down to lift him up into his arms. Will’s face and arms were covered in little red bumps, but his face was split into an excited grin. “Da get me from school!” he said, putting his arms around Mark’s neck. Mark smiled and said, “That’s right, I’m here to get you from school.”
The nurse behind the desk was smiling at them both, and Mark gave her a nod. “Hello,” he said while still getting crushed by William’s hug. “Hello,” the nurse said with a grin. “You have quite a son. He’s incredibly chatty and friendly.”
Mark smiled and nodded. “No need to tell me. I apologize if he’s been talking your ear off.” The nurse’s grin widened as she shook her head. “No need to apologize. He’s quite insightful for a 3-year-old. We’ve been talking about dogs.” Mark pulled back to look at William. “Dogs, hmm?” he said, making eye contact with his son.
Will’s eyes lit up and he said, “Yeah, Da! Dogs! Weiner dogs, and spotted dogs, and smushed faced dogs.” Mark laughed and said, “Smushed faced dogs are your favorites, aren’t they?” Will nodded excitedly. “Is that what you were pretending to be on the window when I walked up?” Mark continued, setting Will on the ground. Will nodded eagerly and then turned his body around to mime wagging his tail. “Wif a cinnamon roll bun,” he said gleefully, continuing to wiggle his bottom at Mark.
Mark looked sheepishly at the nurse and said, “We have a pug that lives up the street from us. It took to William immediately, and obviously vice versa. We have many conversations about Lola, don’t we?”
“Lola is my friend,” Will told the nurse. She smiled at him warmly and said, “That’s what I hear! Next time I see you, maybe we can draw a picture of Lola.” Will nodded again with a smile.
“Da, we go home now?” he said, yanking on Mark’s pant leg. Mark looked down at him, then back at the nurse. “Looks like our time is up. Thank you for taking such good care of him and for letting us know--it must’ve come on quickly. My wife made an appointment for tomorrow at the doctor’s, but is there anything else we should know?”
“Just keep him hydrated and keep an eye on any feverish behavior. Also, try to not let him scratch. He was running a low grade fever earlier, which is how we found the spots, but it will probably spike at some point. Just make sure to keep him cool and comfortable--the doctor should be able to give you more information tomorrow.”
Mark thanked the nurse, hoisted William up into his arms, and carried him out to the car. “We go home now, Da?” Will asked, playing with the collar of Mark’s overcoat. “Yes, my love. Home we go,” Mark replied as he strapped him into his carseat. Mark hopped into the driver’s seat and turned the volume up on the radio--”The Wheels on the Bus” came onto the speakers, and he could see Will’s face light up as he started to babble along. Leave it to Bridget to find the perfect distraction, Mark thought to himself with a smile. This will be the only thing I hear in my head for the next 4 days, but look at how happy he is. In the 20 minutes it took them to get home, Mark caught himself on more than one occasion singing along with the CD, too.
Mark carried William into the house, the bag from the pharmacy in his other hand. He placed Will down and said, “OK, now. I'm thinking jammies and a popsicle. What do you say?” Will looked down at himself--Bridget had dressed him in a button down and sweater vest that morning, his little jeans scrunched up near his ankles where they were too long. “Da wear jammies too?” Will implored. It was Mark’s turn to now look down at himself--he had chosen a charcoal grey suit to go with the navy necktie Bridget had picked out for him that morning, and he was wearing his usual crisp, white shirt. He couldn't help smiling at his son’s innocent question as he nodded and said, “Yes, Da will wear jammies, too.”
Mark took his son’s hand and led him up the stairs, slowly taking one at a time. They made their way into Will’s room first, where Mark put up a valiant fight against his son’s wishes. In the end, though, Will got his way--he'd wear his Paw Patrol bottoms with his BB8 top if it was the last thing he did. Mark just couldn't find it in his heart to force Will into a matching set of pajamas--every time he looked into those glazed eyes, his heart was a goner.
William followed Mark into the master bedroom, his little feet having to move at twice the pace of Mark’s to keep up with him. Mark made his way into the walk in closet to rehang his suit and stow his oxfords, keeping an eye on Will as he deftly moved about the closet. His son was sitting contentedly on the floor of the closet, idly playing with a truck he had left in there from the last time he watched Mark get dressed. The closet was essentially another playroom for Will--there were plenty of places to hide among his parents’ racks of clothing, and the drawers inside offered many places for him to stash his toys.
Mark turned his back to rifle through one of the drawers, looking for a pair of pajamas bottoms and a sweatshirt to wear. When he turned back around, Will had disappeared. “Will?” Mark said hesitantly as he pulled the sweatshirt over his head. “Will, this isn't funny. Where are you?” Still no answer. Mark cleared his throat as panic started to rise in his chest. “William Jones-Darcy, answer me this instant.”
A giggle came from the rack of clothes to Mark’s left and he felt relief flood his body. Two can play this game. Creakily, Mark got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl towards the giggles. “Hmmm,” he said, “it seems I've lost my Billy Boy.” Bridget hated when he called William “Billy”, but the nickname when they were alone stuck. It always got Will giggling, and that was a sound Mark would gladly listen to all day.
Mark crept closer and closer, listening to Will’s excited breathing behind a rack of his suit jackets. One little foot was sticking out from underneath them, and Mark took the opportunity to gently take a nibble out of the big toe. “My, this looks delicious!” he exclaimed as Will burst into giggles. “It seems as if someone is hiding in my closet,” he continued, reaching out his arms to grab Will’s leg and slowly tug him out of his hiding space. Will was now beside himself with laughter, his cheeks flushed and round.
“Well, look who I found!” Mark said as he leaned down to plant a firm kiss on his son’s cheek.
“Da found me!”
“Indeed Da did. What do you say, my little storm trooper? Shall we rustle up some lunch?”
Will nodded eagerly, patting his stomach. Mark scooped him up in his arms and turned off the closet light. They headed down to the kitchen, and Mark perched Will on the marble countertop. “Now remember--sit still so you don't fall,” he reminded Will. Bridget would be bereft if he knew he was letting their son sit on the counter, but Mark was a firm believer in practice making perfect--if he started off trusting Will now and giving him parameters that he kept within, it would become old hat as he got older. Will nodded solemnly at his father’s request and folded his little hands in his lap, crossing his legs at the ankle.
Mark made them a fantastic lunch of alphabet soup and toast with jam, which they ate on the couch while watching Paw Patrol. Mark noticed through the meal that Will’s itching was getting worse, so once the soup was gone and all that was left of the toast was crumbs, Mark looked down at his son and said, “Are you itchy, love?”
Will looked up at him with a pout that rivaled Bridget's. He nodded, picking at one of the pox on his arm. Mark gave him a sympathetic smile and said, “Why don't we take a bath and see if that helps?” A flash of fear and determination came across Will’s face--the dreaded “B-Word”. Mark knew what he was getting into, and he had come to the battle prepared. “This isn't going to be a normal bath, though. Oh no, not at all. This bath is for superheroes, with lots of bubbles and the water glows.”
Mark’s water cooler talk now consisted of toddler tips and tricks from the other parents in chambers. One dad in particular has mentioned that his son hated baths until they started dropping lit glow sticks into the tub and essentially bathing him in the dark. At first, Mark had thought the idea absurd and ridiculous. Glow sticks in the bathtub...what is this, a rave? He learned quickly, though, that he needed to have an arsenal of tricks up his sleeve to deal with his son’s ever evolving opinions. He hadn't tried the glowing bathtub trick yet, but he felt like this might be the most opportune time. He has stashed some glow sticks in his nightstand for the right moment.
Will’s curiosity was clearly piqued at the mention of superheroes. Mark asked him if he wanted to give it a go, and Will hesitantly nodded.
In the next few moments, Will was sitting on the toilet seat, wrapped in a towel while Mark drew him a bath. He took care to sprinkle the oatmeal into the water, and made sure there were lots of frothy bubbles that Will could play with. The grand finale was turning off the lights (which caused Will to squeak nervously) and snap the glow sticks into action. Will’s squeak now turned into a drawn out, “Ohhhhhh, Daaaaaa,” and Mark couldn't help smiling.
The glow sticks splashed into the water, turning the bubbles into green and blue mountains of light. Will was now standing next to the tub, stark naked, and looking into the glowing water. “Want to hop in?” Mark asked, placing a hand on top of his son’s head. Will looked up at him and nodded, so Mark plopped him into the bubbly water.
With the addition of the bath’s superpowers, it was the quickest, easiest bath to date. Will splashed happily while Mark timed how long he soaked. Once the bath was over, Will was actually upset. Mark scooped him up on a towel, soaking up the excess water off of him, and then pulled out the bottle of calamine lotion. “Now this is superhero cream. Would you like me to put some on you?” he asked.
Will warily looked at the bottle in Mark’s hand. This may be harder than the bath, Mark thought. He squirted some into his palm and smoothed it over his own arm. His skin turned a bismol shade of pink, and Will’s eyes lit up. “See?” Mark said as relief flooded his body. We're going to go the ol’ shapeshifter route with this one. “It turns you pink!”
Eagerly, Will stuck his arm out to be slathered with the lotion. Mark happily obliged, making sure to cover him thoroughly, then dressed him in the same pair of pajamas as before. He now looked like a little pink monster, grinning from ear to ear. “My, you look quite frightening, my little monster!” Mark exclaimed as he drained the bath. Will put two clawed hands up by his face and bared his teeth. Mark laughed and scooped him up.
The next two hours were spent playing with trucks, piecing together puzzles, reading books, and pretending to be astronauts. Mark was always amazed at how smart his son was, but it was moments like these, where he was barraged with the nuggets of information his son had already picked up, that Mark truly was in awe of what he and Bridget had created. Despite the poor sentence structure that is indicative of a toddler, Will’s vocabulary was immense. He knew what a telescope was, and he could name every animal on the puzzle they were putting together. He was inquisitive and bright...everything Bridget and Mark had wanted in a child.
As the hours passed, Mark started to notice the flush in Will’s cheeks deepening and the itching on his arms starting again. They were sitting on the floor of Will’s bedroom, playing with two trucks Will had produced from his toy box. Mark leaned forward and pressed his lips against Will’s brow--it was definitely much warmer than before.
“Hey, Billy Boy. Why don't we put on some more lotion so you don't itch?” Mark asked. Will’s face crumpled and he shook his head. The climbing temperature was clearly making him cranky, and Mark knew that his tricks wouldn’t work twice. There was some more bartering, some exasperated sighs on Mark’s part, and ultimately Will’s victory. Mark just couldn’t bring himself to upset his son any further.
“How about a popsicle, then?” Mark asked. Will’s eyes lit up at the offer, so Mark carried him downstairs and they both had a cherry popsicle. He could see the lids of Will’s eyes getting heavy as he sucked on the popsicle, red dye covering his lips and chin. He was still absentmindedly picking and itching at his arm, much to Mark’s concern. How in the world do you get a three-year-old to stop scratching an itch that they can’t scratch?
He hated doing it, but this was a job for Mommy. Mark grabbed his phone from the counter while Will continued to eat his popsicle and texted Bridget.
Mark Darcy @ 3:15 PM -- Will refuses calamine lotion. Fear revolt. Any suggestions?
Bridget Darcy @ 3:17 PM -- Poor love. Let me Google some ideas and I’ll get back to you.
Mark sighed and pressed a kiss against his son’s head. He could feel the heat coming off of Will’s body now, and he noticed a significant sag in his shoulders. It hit Mark right in the heart to see his son feeling so poorly. He grabbed the children’s thermometer from the cabinet above the sink and took Will’s temperature--it had crept up to 101. He was sure the popsicle would be helping, but he knew that Will should rest and maybe take a nap to help battle off the germs wreaking havoc inside of his little body. Just then, his phone vibrated.
Bridget Darcy @ 3:25 PM -- Found an article saying to put oven mitts on them. They think it’s a game and it stops them from itching
Mark could feel himself cringing at the thought. That’s asinine , he thought before he could help himself. He looked over at Will, who looked more miserable by the second as he continued to itch his arms and torso. “Love, you can’t scratch,” Mark said, trying to rationalize with his three-year-old son. Will’s bottom lip immediately stuck out and tears started to well in his eyes. Bugger. “Now now, no need to cry. I know you’re itchy, but you can’t scratch.” The welling of tears had now turned into a full on cry as Mark gently held his arms at his sides. Bugger again.
The hardest thing Mark had to learn since becoming a father was rationalizing with this tiny human. It had taken him years to break the cycle of thinking logically and assuming that his son thought the same way. Yes, Will was smart, but he was little and didn’t always quite understand why he could or couldn’t do something. Mark had actually gotten quite good at it, once he had thrown his own logic out the window and started thinking outside the box. But there were always moments--like the one right now--that threw him for a loop and left him helpless for answers.
It also didn’t help that Will’s bright blue eyes were now full of tears. Mark never knew empathy the way he felt it with his son. He always considered himself a sympathetic person--he wouldn’t have gone into his line of law if he wasn’t--but there was something about the face of his son that made him feel empathy more than anyone else. In this moment, Mark’s heart was breaking into a million pieces and he could feel the panic rising in his chest as he struggled to find an answer to fix the problem.
Mark’s eyes settled on a pair of oven mitts that Bridget had left on the counter from last night’s dinner. He could feel the inner turmoil tugging on his heartstrings as he logically couldn’t have Will wear them, all while wanting to make his son feel better. “Oh, bugger,” he muttered as he stood up from the stool he had been on. He picked up the oven mitts and brought them over to Will. “Love, do you want to wear these?” he asked half-heartedly. Will sniffled, but was clearly interested in Mark’s offer. He hesitantly reached out and took them out of Mark’s hands, and Mark felt his shoulders drop. Oven mitts it is.
Will stuck out his hands as Mark slid the mitts on over his hands. The tears immediately stopped as Will looked at his hands gleefully. “Da wear too?” he asked, holding both of his mittened hands up in the air, clearly trying to entice Mark into wearing his own pair. Mark couldn’t help but sigh--he was absolutely useless as telling Will no when it came to things like this. “Sure, Billy Boy. Da will wear them, too.” He rummaged in one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out another pair. Mark slipped them onto his own hands and looked at Will. “Better?” he asked, holding his hands up in the mirror image of his son. Will smiled and said, “Better.”
Mark carried Will into the living room where the television was and they sat next to each other on the couch. “How about we watch a movie?” Mark asked his son, who was now barely keeping his eyes open. Will looked up to him with a glassy expression and nodded. “Why don’t we watch The Sound of Music? ” Mark suggested, picking up the remote. “That’s what I always watched when I didn’t feel good.”
It was one of the few memories Mark had from his childhood--Admiral Darcy was never around when he was sick, so his mother had indulged him and coddled him when he wasn’t feeling well. The Sound of Music was always their go-to movie--Mark would lie on the couch with his head in his mother’s lap while she gently stroked his hair until he fell asleep. It felt appropriate to put it on for Will since he was sick, and he knew that Bridget wouldn’t protest.
After clicking through the options on Netflix, he found The Sound of Music and put it on. Will’s eyes were heavy now, and Mark could see him nodding off, the oven mitts taking up most of his arms. Mark couldn’t help smiling. “Want to lay down?” he nonchalantly asked, and Will gave him a sleepy nod. Mark reclined on the couch, fixing the pillows behind his head with some difficulty from the oven mitts. Before he had even gotten fully settled, Will had climbed onto his chest and laid against him so that his head was right underneath Mark’s chin. Mark placed a gentle kiss on the top of his son’s head and brought his arm protectively around his back.
It didn’t take long before the two of them were sound asleep. Will didn’t even get to see Maria become the Von Trapp children’s governess.
Less than an hour later, Bridget got home from work. She had entered the house quietly, just in case Will was asleep. She couldn’t hear anything, so she crept through the first floor, looking for any sign of Mark or Will. They weren’t in the kitchen, and they weren’t in the front sitting room. She made her way to the living room in the back of the house and turned the corner.
There, Bridget found Mark and Will asleep on the couch. They were both clad in their oven mitts, Will nestled under Mark’s chin as Mark’s arms held Will against his chest. Mark was softly snoring, and Will was drooling against Mark’s sweatshirt as the Von Trapps sang “The Lonely Goatherd” on the TV.
Bridget couldn’t help the grin on her face as she pulled out her phone. “This will be the best Facebook post ever,” she whispered to herself as she snapped a photo of the scene.