Sick days are no good, in general. I hate staying inside and missing adventures. The days take forever from wake-up to bedtime and yesterday was no exception.
Last week, when I heard it was going to be in the scorching 90s on Sunday and I knew m* would be out of town for work, I planned to spend the whole day at the pool, nap and all. My first clue that this wasn’t going to work out should have been when The Who complained of mouth pain when I picked him up from daycare on Friday. It wasn’t. When he spent all afternoon on Saturday whining and miserable at a family picnic, even turning down a chocolate chip cookie, this should have been my next clue. Nope. And I even obliviously believed the plan was still a go on Sunday morning, despite his lethargy.
Lemme just take his temp to be sure.
One-oh-one under the arm. Super. Needless to say, we stayed in. He laid his hot body on me and napped. We watched a lot of Barney. He drank some juice. He whined and moaned. I dosed him up. Sometime around 2pm, he rallied, the Tylenol finally kicking in, and we played for a while before he pooped out again and just wanted to hang out on the couch.
Today was another “inside” day, despite his waking fever-free (and staying so all day — hooray!) I honestly don’t know how I made it, but i do know that i squinted into the sun this afternoon when we ventured out for milk, as though i had been living in a cave.