So two nights ago, ECP woke just as L and I were off to bed, fussing and rolling about with no signs of being tired. By now, the missus and I recognize the signs of an illness…or at least of discomfort, in the boy. Sure enough, the little fella had a low fever. So we gave him some generic Motrin, and L set about adjusting her pillow in readiness for nursing. The irritation/tiredness levels were pretty high for mom and pop, and we were probably as frustrated with the tyke as we ever get. As Leah moved her pillow, she knocked over a full glass of water off her nightstand. As she grumbled and jumped up to go grab a towel, little brother got to his hands and knees on the bed, scooted over to the edge where he could see the carnage, and said, “Uh oh.”
That helped diffuse the situation, of course. At least a bit. What sort of stone-hearted bastard could listen to those cute little words float out into the darkness of that bedroom and not feel the exasperation start to leave his body?
L’s just back from the doctor’s office with the boy, and turns out it’s “just” teething. He has an eye tooth that simply refuses to come through. That’s the bad news. The good news is that the doctor has told use we’re likely not dealing with a virus or other illness, so the boy can head off to see his pals at daycare tomorrow a.m.
