Medicine

On the first day, there was the teething.
On the second day, there was the snotting.
On the third day, there was the screaming.
The fourth day brought two ear infections.
The fifth day was Mother's Day and small birds danced and sang.
On the sixth day, a rash emerged.
On the seventh day, a fever joined the rash.
Then screaming returned for good measure
and the snotting sang back-up through all of it.

What I mean to say is: it's been a rough week.
You had an allergic reaction to the amoxicillan so it did not turn out to be our knight in pink armor as I had originally anticipated.

Today, finally, you were back, really back to your old self again. I said that same thing in my last post, on Mother's Day, but it turned out to be a big fat lie. By the following day Dismal Fussy Sick Thisbe had returned. This was not a happy return. Plus, it was 50 degrees and rainy all week which didn't really help matters.

But today. Today is different. Today the temperature reached for--and almost touched--the 70 degree mark. Sunglasses appeared on the tops of people's heads and the residue of warmer layers manifested themselves around people's waists.

Now confident in your crawling abilities, you have returned to language. You spent much of today repeating "da-da-da-da-da-da" as many times as possible. The syllable doesn't yet have a signified (i.e. your father), it's more that you have finally discovered how to make the sound, not by accident but by design, and you want to emblazon the memory on your tongue. "Da-da-da-da-da-da"--while crawling, while sitting, while standing and pulling on the couch cushions. "Da-da-da-da-da-da-da." And cutest of all: on the way to Minneapolis this afternoon, you began to fuss in your car seat. I handed you "Where is the Green Sheep" and you held it in your hands like the holy grail and then you began to talk to it "da-da-da-da-da" only because it was a book, it seemed very much like you were reading to yourself. You kept on this way for quite some time, banging the boardbook against your seat belt buckle from time to time for good measure. I flipped through an "Entertainment Weekly" and your father talked about courses and perspective and shame. And the sunlight swam across his face and onto my lap and the green of late spring after heavy rain rushed by on either side of the car.