This one goes to 11

In case y'all weren't yet bored to death by the Sick-O-Meter, I thought I'd send a few more griping, irritated sentences into cybperspace. We've hit 11 illnesses since Jack started daycare 4 months ago. 10 was mild. 11 is not. I'm coughing so hard that I can't breath. Jack has a terrible cough, too, though thankfully no fever. Greg got sick, but he's feeling better. Luckily we've all had our pertussis vaccines, else I'd be freaking out about whooping cough. I am miserable. I just close my eyes and repeat the refrain: you can survive anything for XX... and sometimes XX is a few months, sometimes a few days.

Despite being ill, Jack is one happy little dude. He's crawling all over the place. We took off his onesie yesterday, to encourage him to lift his belly off the ground... and it worked! Jack popped up to hands and knees and rocked forward and back a few times, then took one hesitant inch forward before resting his belly back on the floor and returning to his default army crawl.

I love the little guy so much. His job is growing and he's just doing the best job ever.

Yesterday, when I went to pick him up at daycare, Jack was hanging out in the exer-saucer, playing with his friend Ellis. (Ellis was working the spinner thingy from the outside and Jack was working the spinner thingy from the inside). Jack wasn't standing up in the exer-saucer, just resting his cute butt against the fabric. Suddenly he saw me, and he popped up in excitement, legs locked and head as high as it could go, the hugest grin you could imagine spreading across Jack's face. He greeted with me with a loud, happy growl, so loud and so happy that everyone else in the room started laughing.

And with that short anecdote, I shall return to what occupies me today: passing out in bed, clutching blankets around me as I cope with the dual guilt of neither being capable of work nor being with my baby, and trying to make up for many sleepless nights so that my body can kick this damn cough.