So Charlie's had a fever for a couple of days. No big deal. He's getting his second tooth so we just figured that was that. Then he wakes up last night, trembling uncontrollable, his stomach rigid and hard, his lips blue and face ashen. He's shrieking and inconsolable. Then he goes all Exorcist baby on us, decorating Daddy's t-shirt and pants with the night's dinner. After a quick sanity check from a patient pediatrician (it was midnight or so), we woke up Schuyler and hopped in the car to the hospital en famille. Of course, the dear baby who appeared to be suffering from alien infestation or some horrible intestinal ailment, arrived at the hospital all chilled out and flirting with all the nurses and patients. They told us he had "a virus" which, when you hear it at two in the morning after all that sounds good, but the next morning you wake up going "what the heck does that mean?" Anyway, he's cranky and nobody is getting much sleep and he's still got a fever but we're all getting through it. Unfortunately, it feels like all the hard work we all put in getting Charlie to sleep 7-to-7 has been reset as he is up every hour or so. Da capo. The poor thing. At least we understand that this will (hopefully) all end soon. We know there is medicine and that fevers are temporary. Charlie has no idea. He's the perfect existentialist existing only in the present tense. For him, this is his life right now and it stinks. He has no idea that this too shall pass.
p.s. Charlie took the little hospital pedialyte bottle in one hand and chugged it like a freshman during pledge week... it was good to see.
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