So last week Alastair started daycare. Thursday night, he started getting a little stuffy. Friday, he was congested. We weren't sure at the time, but by late Friday night we were sure: he was sick.
Amanda was wracked with guilt for having put him in institutionalized daycare. I was worried for the little guy. The aspirator came out, as did the saline spray, and we did our best to keep our buddy happy.
The real joy was that he shared his cold with us. Friday night was Jeff & Evelyn's rehearsal dinner, and we made it through with nary a sniffle, but shortly after getting home that night, we both got sore throats.
Saturday was misery, trying to get ready for the wedding (Amanda was Matron of Honor, and I was a groomsman) with stuffy heads and a sick 4-month-old. Graciously, my dad maintained his offer to watch Alastair during the wedding festivities, and we got through the ceremony and reception ok.
Sunday was more of the same, taking care of Boy. On Monday, neither he nor I felt up to work, so we stayed home. That kid slept more on Monday than he did in his first few days of life. Poor little guy was working super hard at getting better.
Tuesday, we heard a sound we'd not heard for days: the joyous sounds of his morning gibberish! We got to work, albeit a bit late, and he's been on the mend ever since.
What a rotten way to spend your 4-month birthday: sick, asleep, and cranky.
Congratulations, Jeff & Evelyn! (If I seemed distant, it was the combination of my cold and worry for the boy.)