Henry woke up at 5:20 yesterday morning, apparently yelling about how he was going to THROW UP. I missed this because I was already up and dressed and downstairs working.
Good morning!
He did not throw up, but by lunch time he was running a 101 degree fever and was listless and quiet, which is a clear sign that he’s sick. We loaded him up with Tylenol and called the pediatrician to check in, only to find that the office was closed for the holiday. So we assumed that he didn’t have the flu and got on with our lives, which mostly consisted of plopping the kids in front of the TV so that I could work and Wade could nap.
By bedtime Henry was feeling a little better, but still not back to himself; instead of strapping on his headlamp and crawling under the covers with a book, he begged me to snuggle with him and then curled up in my lap, where he proceeded to rub his germy, Vaseline-covered face all over my cashmere sweater, and use my arm to cover his mouth when he sneezed or coughed.