On Monday night at 10:30pm, Toby walked out of his bedroom, deliriously chatting a mile a minute. His forehead was burning hot, and he curled up next to me on the sofa, while I stared into his eyes and nodded along, trying to get him to come down to earth. I ended up sleeping in his bed to keep an eye on him, and his tossing body felt like a radiator. The next morning, he was still hot and his cheeks had developed a rash. We rushed him to the pediatrician, who then rushed us to the ER, fearing bacterial meningitis. After being poked and prodded for hours, and taking a long nap in my arms like a newborn, teary Toby was proclaimed safe and not seriously ill (with an unidentified virus). Thank goodness!
What a terrifying day. Moments like that make you realize with a shock how intensely you love your children.
Meanwhile, Anton, also feverish but not as severely, stayed home and cuddled with our babysitter. Or, as Alex joked, Anton is so rugged, he was probably chilling in a corner with an empty whiskey glass, chewing on a bullet.
These two boys. The loves of my life.
(Photo taken last night. Goodnight Moon always does the trick.)