It's Wednesday morning and it's time for Seth to get up. His tv is already on and curtains drawn. He's sitting up in bed.
I remove the safety sides from Seth's bed and swing his legs round so they are dangling over the side. Seth grunts at me. I stop and look at him: he is quite pale. I ask him if he feels poorly and if he wants to stay in bed. In response he tries to lift his right foot back onto the bed, but it slips back. He tries, and fails, again. I tell him that if he can manage to get himself back into bed then he can stay in bed. Seth renews his efforts and manages to get traction with his right foot and shift himself fully back round onto the mattress.
I change his pad in bed and, at this, Seth gives a squealy peal of laughter: he knows he's getting a lie in. I know this means I'll have to take him into school myself, late, but it's so worth it.
I remove the safety sides from Seth's bed and swing his legs round so they are dangling over the side. Seth grunts at me. I stop and look at him: he is quite pale. I ask him if he feels poorly and if he wants to stay in bed. In response he tries to lift his right foot back onto the bed, but it slips back. He tries, and fails, again. I tell him that if he can manage to get himself back into bed then he can stay in bed. Seth renews his efforts and manages to get traction with his right foot and shift himself fully back round onto the mattress.
I change his pad in bed and, at this, Seth gives a squealy peal of laughter: he knows he's getting a lie in. I know this means I'll have to take him into school myself, late, but it's so worth it.
