Not one that has me on the payroll, of course.

As a mother, we all work the late shift in our homes, doubling as a part-time nurse. A nurse without training. No ID badge. No scrubs. And no clipboard to record notes about the patient.

That was me last night, as my 5-year-old woke in the night screaming and tugging his ear. God love him, but I must admit the boy is a shoo-in for worst patient of the decade. He may be five, but any patience he had prior to catching this bug apparently took the day off. Grouchy kid aside, my husband and I were like tag-team wrestlers minus the tights in a ring, taking turns on Motrin runs downstairs and hoping our oldest son didn’t wake from the circus.

Wasted thoughts.

Our little guy had only a few requests. He doesn’t want to be bothered with meds but wants to feel better yesterday, wants a drink but not that one, agrees to numbing drops in his ear but now it’s clogged, wants his back tickled but no talking please, and you get the idea.

One thing was clear by 1:00 am. He’ll need a good wife when he’s older.

Preferably one who wears scrubs.

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