I'm posting from my phone this morning, as Kid and I rest on the couch and baby girl kicks away.
We've both been up all night. My alarm is set to go off in 20 minutes and I kind of want to cry.
Our 6pm trip to urgent care went quickly; waiting for the prescription did not.
Kid fell asleep as soon as we got in the car. He's been up every 30 to 40 minutes since. I've just been up.
Tonsillitis stinks. How does a toddler get it, anyway?
In his few moments of sleep, I've learned which people are on Kid's mind the most.
"Elmo," he cries out, "Mamo, Pa." His beloved grandparents. "Daddy! Mama, Mama, Mamaaaa!"
And how can I not scoop the teary boy out of his crib? His arms reaching up for me, his nose so stuffy he snores like an 80 year old man. His skin is hot, his lips are dry. He guzzles 8 ounces of water in five minutes.
I want to take it all away. I'll take tonsillitis, please. The inability to breathe through my nose. The fever, the tears, all of it.
I'll take it all, so long as kid feels better.