T
hings are pretty sad when there's a sick baby in the house. He's not dying or anything; he's not even in that much pain, but I know the discomfort he feels, having felt it myself for the past several days, and I've had a lot more experience with that sort of trial than he has. His smiles and curiosity have turned to creased foreheads and little moans of worry. Restlessness and irritability prevail. His mother just holds him and weeps silently for his innocent pain, both of us powerless to ease it, hoping that he'll have the good fortune to fall asleep for a few hours of bliss. The clock ticks by slowly. We had a doctor's appointment scheduled for tomorrow anyway, so he's getting good and looked at. God bless his little heart.