Oliver has been sick for about two weeks now. We had a night of puking, a couple of days with no eating, lots of crying, crying, crying, fevers, runny nose, lethargy, and a hacking cough day and night. Every time he gets sick, there's a part of me that becomes terrified that we're heading back into the hospital. Two one-week admissions last winter was plenty, but we know that the damange to Oliver's lungs from RSV last year may set us up for a rough winter again.
But when he woke up yesterday, he hardly coughed. The boogers were decreased in supply. Our little boy is turning the corner, and once again we have escaped a trip to the ER. Michael caught the illness while I, usually the sicky, miraculously stayed healthy. There's something else, though, that seems to be quite contageous around here.
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