Take Ill

Most days we live with a fairly particularized parental angst.
But he looks like a typical two year old, Andy explained, as Tucker lolled around the living room, jammies half on, bilateral snot trails running down his face.  This is just the normal kind of sickness for which there is a relative abundance of advice, and complaint.

Resting near him on the couch was his sister, a persistent perspective check.  She is an emissary, a blunt and very human reminder of what's big and what's not, of what's hard and what isn't.
We've filled up humidifiers, doled out Tylenol doses, anticipated sleep interruptions.  He is not miserable.  His ailments are temporary, his symptoms treatable.

With a lethargy that wipes the shine right out of his big brown eyes and without an appetite for even green popsicles, we can tell he feels puny.  But as bad as we feel for him, we are simultaneously relieved to be inside the known malady norm.

These pictures were taken last week, when Tuck felt good and was experimenting with sunlight, a mirror and a bouncy ball.  He'll be well again in no time.
JEB