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father's day

I walked into Bug's classroom on Thursday afternoon ready for a "parent-teacher conference," but when I got there, Bug was just waking up from a nap, and he had a low grade fever.

That afternoon, at home, Bug's fever got worse.
I put on a movie, and he slept on the couch and on the floor next to the couch.  (He requested the floor several times.)

Bug was too tired and weak to eat dinner, so I just gave him sips of juice doctored with a dose of ibuprofen.  (The kid has refused to take medicine from a very early age . . . and by "refused," I mean thrashed, flailed, and spit it back at us . . . every time . . . for the last two and a half years.  So now I am left with no choice but to engage in the covert drugging of my child . . . which feels about as great as you think it would.)

Not too long after Bug went to sleep, he woke up, cried out, and ended up in our bed.  His fever got worse, and he couldn't get comfortable.  Every time he woke up, I offered him the juice-medicine.  The fever hit over 104 degrees before he finally finished his "juice."  Around 3 or 4 am, probably thanks to all the juice pushing I had been doing, Bug's night-time diaper was overwhelmed.  Not long after the diaper change, I heard Bug call out in his tiniest, saddest voice, "I wanna sleep on the floor."

Without a word, or even a sigh of exhaustion, my husband took a pillow from the bed and lay down on the floor with Bug for the rest of the night.

Three days later, Bug bounced back to his wonderful self while our Squish spent most of Sunday (a.k.a. Father's Day) sleeping off his own fever.  That night, Squish woke up around 11:30.  Afraid that his fever had returned, I got him from the crib, nursed him, and then foolishly assumed he would return quickly to sleep.

I was wrong.  He had slept all day, and his fever was gone.   Arms flapping, hands reaching up into the air, letting out giggles, screeches, and other sounds of delight, Squish was ready to party.  I rolled onto my side, with my back to the Squish, hoping that eventually the baby party would end.  Declining to be ignored, Squish grabbed my hair and pulled - and pulled some more - occasionally letting out a Declaration Of One Amazing Baby's Absolute Victory Over The Boring Old Night.

By 1am, offering to nurse Squish was not having the desired sleep-inducing effect, and I was on the brink of non compos mentis.

Without a word, or even a sigh of exhaustion, my husband got up, picked up PartyBaby, and walked him around the apartment for the next half-hour, lulling Squish back to sleep.

Four hours before he would wake up to start his work day.
For the second time in three days.
Without complaint.
Confirming what I have known for years.

The man is able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

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