Sunday, January 4, 2009

Like father, like son.

Last night, we had a mild temperature scare. After The Boy had spent most of the day snuggling and sleeping on us, he was quite grumpy through dinner and afterwards. He was clingy and whiny, crying when he was put down and not allowed to play with the normal stuff he's not allowed to play with, that sort of thing. Completely undistractable, focused on one thing to the exclusion of all else, much like his father.

So, we moved him from the living room into the bedroom in the hope that it would calm him down. Wrong move, as he threw a major league hissy fit. (Again, much like which parent?) Considering the fact that his nose was runny (due to the crying, we hoped), and considering his behavior, we were afraid that he had caught something from somewhere. Another late night at the hospital was staring us in the face.

We took his temperature and it was 99.3, right at the border of "Call the Doctor Immediately." Mind you, this was after approximately an hour of carrying on. I gave them some Daddy-less Mommy-snuggles and left the room, which is sometimes necessary - he really needed alone time with Mommy, as Daddy was agitating him by Daddy's mere presence. This happens in the reverse often enough that it doesn't surprise us any more. I came back in a little while later, and he was contentedly sucking his thumb and resting on Mommy's belly. We took his temperature a half hour after the first reading (or so), and it was in the low 98's.

Moral of the story? He had worked himself up into such a frenzy that... wait for it... it actually (temporarily) made him physically ill. Or, rather, showing the symptoms of a potential physical illness. Sound familiar?

You guessed it. One of his parents does that on a regular basis. One of his parents doesn't. I'll give you a couple of hints: #1: it's the parent that has gone through a half-dozen jobs in his teaching career because of said tendency to work himself into a righteous fury; #2: it's the parent that is far more moody and depressive; #3: it's the parent that is NOT pregnant.

ZOMG, I hope that he learns to rein it in earlier than I learned. (...or rather, am learning.) It's great to be passionate; it's NOT great when you become so passionate about something that the flame burns those around you. Maybe my therapy sessions from earlier in life can help him... or they might just make matters worse. I don't know.

I wish my mom was around. I tend to get that passion from her, with a healthy dose of my father's temper thrown in. She's be able to help. Sigh.

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