Get Well Soon

When the Buddy Boy is sick, his eyes are even bluer than usual because they are so glassy. His nose runs, and since he is new to wiping his own nose, he wipes it on his sleeve, on the furniture, and most often, on me. Ever since he kicked the chronic ear infections two years ago, he's been so healthy that last night I couldn't even place his cough until I was standing outside his door, because I rarely hear it. He gets a raspy voice, which I think he kind of likes because sometimes he complains that his voice sounds like a girl (he'd like to be a 3 year old James Earl Jones). But the most obvious sign that Marty is sick is the stillness. He sat on my lap reading books this morning, then stood there as I got him dressed, and went off for a nap without complaining. Not a single dance routine or rendition of "Cutting and Being Old." Yesterday he was bouncing on the trampoline and singing, and today he is wiped out (but not unhappy).

Hopefully he's got what Lauren just had, four days of coughing and then a miraculous recovery. I don't like the stillness.

I also don't care for the familiar taste of Robitussin being spit back in my face.