Owen's taken a turn. The spirited boy I'm used to is not here today.

He is sick. sick. sick. The sickest he's ever been. And it breaks my heart. And there's not anything I can do for him. But I try. I give him his bear. I let him watch TV. I give him a bath. I make him soup and toast.

Just now I peeked around the corner at him. He's fallen asleep in the chair, having refused to lay in the bed. He makes small whimper-y noises.

...just before sleep one night, I'm guessing around 9 months of age...

1 comment:

Linnae said...

Oh man, I hate it when they're sick. You just feel so helpless.
I hope he gets feeling better again soon!

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