Adventures of Sullivan & Henry

This should probably be two posts as they are unrelated - but here's two stories. One Sullivan and one Henry.

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Last week we experienced a parenting fail. Henry and Sullivan had faucet noses and coughs. We are used to Henry picking up stuff at school. Sullivan, though, has been a pretty healthy kiddo. He started waking up at night (he doesn’t do this) and fussing (he doesn’t do this either).

On the second night, hearing his little sad cough from the crib across the room, I said, “That sounds like it’s moving to his chest.”

“We should probably take him to the doctor,” yawned Jared from next to me in the dark.

He’d had the mildest of fevers when I checked the day before, but otherwise mostly smiles. I’m serious, this is one smiley baby.

The next morning, my mom was staying home with a cold and offered to take him in. I made the appointment and waited to hear.

Croup.

Conjunctivitis.

AND
an ear infection.

I’m honestly surprised they let her bring him home and didn’t just confiscate him. Poor kid. What’s even more surprising knowing this is the amount he didn’t complain. With Henry, that would have been a full-fledged code red, including a Jack Nicholson style “YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH” baby freak-out. Sullivan just expressed genial discomfort. “I don’t prefer this,” he seemed to coo when we leaned over his crib. Which was replaced by a smile when we picked him up.

Jared brought home a chalky, liquid medicine to be taken twice a day for ten days. The first couple of doses went down pretty smooth. Pursed lips and questioning eyes, but still swallowed. After a few days, he started to close his mouth and twist his head, avoiding the plastic tool like… well, like his brother. A couple mini-altercations and forced cheek squeezes, I was perplexed enough to reexamine the bottle.

“Refridgerate.” I read.

D’oh. Had I been slowing poisoning my thrice-sick baby? I called the pharmacy.

After being on hold for 13 minutes and then explaining the situation, “It’s fine.” the pharmacist told me. “It helps make it last longer. And with the taste, of course.”

Of course. So I stuck it in the fridge thinking by the next dosage, we’d be back to miracle baby. Not so much. In fact, he developed a lovely blowing technique which shot any medicine that had made it inside through his sputtering lips to a sprayed pattern on the closest object, generally the medicine administrator's face. And then he’d smile.

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Yesterday, Henry started our day asking me about death and marriage. In that order. When I told him he was at Daddy’s and my wedding, he liked that. Later on his new favorite show (a super disturbing cartoon where animated Russian nesting dolls pop open and tuck things into their bodies - no joke!!), one of the characters said he was going to “Pop the question” to the kids teacher and showed them a ring. Henry liked this phrase (there was a song that went along with it) and asked if Daddy had popped the question.

Fast forward six hours later, after no more discussion of marriage or rings, Daddy comes home. (Jared had been gone for the weekend so this was one of their first interactions in a couple days.)

Henry: “Daddy, Mommy told me how you got married. I was there and then you shared the problem.”

Jared looks at me in horror with the What have you been telling our son??? eyes.

“Popped the question,” I stage-whispered to Henry.

“Oh right,” he nods. “Popped the question. [Pause]  Daddy, want to play Mega Bloks with me?”