But, we got new medicine today and Simon is starting to be his old self. I sent Jeff into the pediatrician with Simon today, but I gave him a list of questions: Is Simon a sickly child? Is my breast milk broken? Why is he sick all the time? Do I have breast cancer? Does he hate me? Is this all my fault?
Jeff's report from the doctor's office confirms that it's too soon to be labeling Simon as "sickly," because all second siblings end up sick a lot because older siblings bring lots of germs into the house. The doctor did not think that my breast milk is broken or that Simon hates me. (What the hell does she know?)
We've had a rough couple of nights and poor Simon is trying to sleep while his fever spikes and makes him feel horrible. We are doing our best to comfort him. I can say that when Simon is up for good at 3:40 in the morning and I want to be a mother who embraces him and gives him what he needs, I sometimes fall short of my ideal because it's so fucking early. But then when he falls asleep on my chest sleeping with his lips all puckered up and snoring his little piggy snores, I think that it's worth all the sleeplessness and that it's one of the sublime moments of being a parent to experience the capacity to comfort and hold a sick child.
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