Eddie has another snotty-nosed cold. This one is even more snotty than the last, so I'm a bit worried about the puke factor (altho' last time I think he had the stomach flu). He puked two times tonight from all the stuff draining to his stomach. Poor kid. But then he didn't seem phased by it.
So last night, when I got home from my meeting at midnight, Eddie had been stirring a bit, but I really wanted to peek in on him. I figured I could safely open the door, as we do each night. But a little voice inside said to just leave him be. Did I listen? Of course not. So I open the door and he still seems fine. I'm really dying to see him--to the point where I wouldn't be able to sleep for thinking about how he was doing.
As I walk into his room, the little voice is practically shouting, "Don't do it, don't do it. He's fine". My feet make the wood floors creak and I pause with each step, hoping not to disturb him. He's quite figity. I get not two feet from the crib and he gets on all fours, pulling himself up to standing. I'm such an idiot. He stayed up until nearly 3am. Poor kid--couldn't get comfortable. Was crawling all over my lap to find a soft place for his head and finally rested on my stomach, with his feet half dangling down, half curled up, fetal style. Every time I tried to put him down in his crib, he woke up, crying.
I was slammed with work today, so didn't get much in the way of pictures. He's my submission for dear old dad, out in Salt Lake City. Fortunately he gets home tomorrow--we can't wait!
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