Yes, Connery is currently croup-i-fied. Again. I guess I shouldn't complain, since he has not had croup at all yet this winter (after last year's record-breaking four croup bouts), but I just hate when he's sick. Luckily, this has been a pretty mild case, but it follows the typical croup pattern of peaking in terribleness at such handy times as 2 a.m.
Heartbreakingly, he is such a good boy about it. I told him last night to call if he needed anything, and at one point we had heard him cough several times in a row and were getting ready to go in when he quietly said, "Mommy? Daddy? Could you come here, please?" And yesterday he had tears after going down from his nap, but when I went in to see what was wrong, he said, "I just need a hug and kiss." When he got up from his nap, he was upset and we went into the living room to calm down in the rocking chair. He ended up falling asleep on my chest for nearly 45 minutes. This is the only time when his being sick does not cause me endless distress. When I have him in my arms, I feel as if I can protect him from any illness.
While I'm on the subject of protecting my progeny, here's a message for the editors of Brain, Child magazine, to which I am a new subscriber. B,C editors, I love your magazine and have since I read a photocopy of one of your stores called "Why I Hate Dr. Sears", but could you please dial back on the child death thing? I mean, one story of toddler death is way more than enough for one issue. To run two, even when one is fictional, borders on Mommy Abuse. I am paranoid and frightened enough thanks to the mainstream media. I don't need additional doses of that from my alternative press.