Oh, my little Callum.

We’re going through a rough patch right now with your health.  I don’t know what’s wrong with your tiny immune system, but it seems like you’ve been sick more than you’ve been healthy for your whole little life.  Right now is particularly bad.  You came down with a bad rash all over your arms, legs, and face.  It’s very itchy and has made it almost impossible for you to sleep.  This, of course, makes it almost impossible for your dad and me to sleep.  Your dad, knowing how useless I am if I don’t get enough sleep, was up very nearly the whole night with you last night.  He tried to get you to sleep at the usual time, but after a while he came and woke me up and said he wanted to take you to the emergency room.  You were thrashing and scratching and crying, and neither of us could do a thing to calm you down.

You guys spent a couple of hours in the ER while I stayed home with your brothers.  He told me to try to sleep, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to while you were anywhere but safe at home.  Complicating my crummy personality when I don’t get enough sleep, I am a Princess and the Pea when it comes to sleeping circumstances.  I can’t sleep unless things are perfect.  When you’re not with me, things are definitely not perfect.

After a few thousand years, your dad called to update me.  He said, “Well, the good news is that he’s not that sick.”  He didn’t have to tell me the bad news:  there’s nothing we can do to help you.  Apparently it’s just some kind of virus or allergic reaction, and we just have to let it run its course.  We figured out this morning that Benadryl cream seems to help more than oral Benadryl, so we’ll try that tonight and hope for the best.  You’ve been pretty cheerful when it’s not the middle of the night, but you look disgusting (or as disgusting as the cutest baby in the universe can look).  We’re supposed to go to Miles’s school for a music demonstration tomorrow, and he really wants us to go, but you look like you fell in a vat of poison ivy.  I guess if you’re acting okay, we’ll be brave and show up.

You’ve been saying a lot of words lately.  It seems like every day or two you add a new one.  A favorite lately has been “do[g],” which you shout whenever we see one when we’re out on our daily walks.  The other day we passed by a house that had a cartoony little dog sign on the lawn chastising dog owners for letting their pets poop there.  You saw the sign and said “do[g].”  I thought that was pretty smart.  It only looked a little like a dog.  It was two-dimensional, about four inches high, in profile, and a line drawing.  It was a pretty long mental leap for you to realize that such a thing represented a living creature.

You also love to look at and identify squirrels, which sounds more like cull, but it’s consistent.  We also have a new game of shaking our fists at rabbits in the yard.  Fortunately, the fence Tobin and I built seems to be keeping them out of the garden, but it’s still fun to share in our outrage.

You’re brave and sweet and love trying to keep up with your brothers.  They’re pretty great about helping you on the playground and around the house.  Miles carries you around even when you’d do fine walking on your own.  You just smile and let him.  Except when you can’t sleep because you’re so uncomfortable, you’re a very relaxed and go-with-the-flow guy.  You’re going to love having more time with your brothers this summer.  We probably won’t be able to take as many long walks together, but we’ve got all kinds of things planned.

I truly hope you can get some good sleep tonight, my sweet little boy.  It’s such an awful feeling to sit there with you crying in my arms, completely unable to console you.  Last night I really wanted to give your dad a chance to sleep, since he’d been up with you for so long, but I just couldn’t handle it.  I had tried every trick I could think of, bouncing and rocking and singing and nursing and cuddling and cold compresses and baking soda and hydrocortisone and ibuprofen and everything.  When your dad heard me crying louder than you, he came and rescued us.

He’s a really good husband and father.  Good job picking him, Cal.  We’ve got a heckuva support system.

Your current favorites:  spending time outside (though spring allergens may be one of the causes of our current turmoil), string cheese, Honey Nut Cheerios, the books Jamberry and Goodnight Moon, stacking rings, and giving really fantastic hugs and kisses.

Now please, let’s get some sleep tonight, little Callum.  I’ll do my best to help you feel good, and you just relax.

Love,

Mommy