.canoe americana?

it's been quite a week. tom took sick last thursday and it's a been a string of illness that hasn't left yet. i took wyatt to the doctor on tuesday because he was struggling with a fever, runny nose, watery eyes and a dry cough. lungs: clear. ears: clear. nose: influenza. he was such a big boy at the doctor's office, answering all the questions directly and taking deep breaths when they listened to his lungs. i was really proud. don't get me wrong, a week of being stuck in the house has made me less compassionate and patient than i'd like to be, but we're surviving.

the biggest struggle i've had with him is his sleeping bag. abbie (via james) gave him this cool camo sleeping bag for his birthday. he sleeps in it every night. but with the fever he really shouldn't sleep in something so thick. try telling him that. he screams, he cries, he coughs. then he asks you to zip him up. every night, "zip me up!" (he wants this every night, not just when he's sick) i have to sneak in later and unzip the bag, throw it off of his very sweaty body quickly and quietly, and then put a sheet on top of him. tonight i did it when he was semi-coherent. it didn't matter, he went back to sleep and then later called for a drink. i went in, assisted him in his drinking and then he said something to the effect of "zip me up". tuck me in, maybe. cover me up, perhaps. whatever it was didn't matter. without hesitation i made sure the sheet was spread all over him and began to tuck it in under his sides. as i pulled up the sheet around his neck he said, "thank you".

i'm praying for a night of few coughs and no screams. he's had a rough go, poor little man. we're thankful he's not throwing up all over and instead is just a mopey mess. tonight he laid on the couch while tom read his book about an israeli spy and every now and again wyatt would say, "what happened now, papa?" tom would summarize in a g-rated way the last few pages and wyatt was content. he likes the idea of armies and fighting, he's a boy. however this is the book that has the actual picture of the spy as he was hung by the syrians. not quite 3 year old material.

he laid there a long time, happy to be under the covers, curled up next to his papa. it's nice to have him be such a cuddle bug, but i'm finished wiping noses and listening to an unproductive cough. i miss the fighting over toys and jumping on the bed. most of all i miss a good night of sleep. but i guess i was already getting kind of used to that anyway.