White flag, please.

This week has been exhausting. If I could have begged for a white surrender/someone-else-step-in flag I would have. Still might.

Tuesday morning, I found myself holding a feverish boy. Fetal position in my arms. The arms that would ache by the end of the week. He would go to no one else. He and I had been up most of the night. Him clinging. Me cursing church's nursery. Figuring it best to just let the fever run its course, we waited it out until Thursday. Three nights of no sleep. Rocking all night. Holding all day. Thursday afternoon I felt like I ought to quickly call the pediatrician's office before they closed down for the day. An ear infection perhaps? Peace of mind with "it's just a virus" and nothing more?

We slipped into the one remaining opening. Ears were checked. Nothing. Throat was checked. Just a little redness. Chest was checked. A concerned look from the doctor. Uh oh. "He has pneumonia in his left lung." We left the office with meds (other than the penicillin he had reacted so badly to before) and the opinion that it would still take 5-6 days for the fever to lessen.

Ugh. Long haul.

Another several long days. He and I spent much of the weekend sitting on the hallway carpet. From there we could watch, with eyes half open, as Matt worked on the bathroom. It was the one spot he was content to be.

Fever finally broke Saturday afternoon. Before expected! He is no longer clingy. Which is good, but in turn he has gone to the other extreme. Now all his wants need to be handled at an arms distance, or he'll throw another fit. The sleep deprivation (still bad sleep last night) and lack of food have caught up to him (and me). He is beyond ornery (as am I). With reason, I understand. But, oh how I want my sweet boy back. The healthy, smiling, I can-wander-places-independently boy.

Sure hope these fits on the floor are not signs of the terrible-twos to come.

Sure hope we both get a long Sunday nap sometime today!