I guess this is what my wife felt like, all those times that I was at the hospital while she was at home. It's a little helpless, a little frustrated, a little annoyed (at life), a lot scared. I don't handle time away from the hospital very well at all, as those who know me can attest. I need to be there. Not that I can do anything more - I'm certainly not the comfort for Younger Bro that my wife is, as much as I try.
I knew that he was really sick when he was sitting on my lap for around 45 minutes. He's got that little, sick baby cry - not really the sustained, lusty, lead-post-like-Tim Waurick cry. Sigh.
The Boy and I had a relatively uneventful evening. Mum and Younger Bro were dropped off from the hospital, and we had dinner, then played outside for a while. He likes hitting the balls - baseball and golf ball - off of the batting tee, then running over and going down the slide. We also played chalks. He brought himself inside, after a while, and we watched some episodes of Batman. His temperature - you know that he's sick, too - was up to 99.1 axillary. Some Tylenol, a trip to the potty, and we watched Mickey's Adventures in Wonderland. At the end, of course, he peed and pooped on my chair. Sigh.
Tried to read him stories, but he threw a fit instead. I got him changed into pajamas, and he recanted and asked for stories. I gave him one (instead of the 2 and one extra for asking nicely that I was planning), and he threw a fit. I brought him to bed, he resisted. I told him I'd sit with him when he was in bed, and he threw a full-on fit. When he calmed down, he climbed into bed, asked me to sit with him, then pulled his blankets up and was asleep inside of 10 minutes. In a second, I'm going to call my wife, start the diaper laundry, and figure out what I'm going to do next. I might play "Burn Zombie Burn" or the new Watchmen game I just got, to do something with my fingers, particularly since the Yankees have already blown a 6-run lead and have no bullpen tonight. Sigh.