What I thought was a teething fever has turned out to be, according to the pediatrician, something viral. Isn't that just the catch-all pediatrician speak, for "I don't know what's wrong with your kid."
Viral marketing--that's good. Virus in your baby--that's bad.
One moment Bertram is right as rain and the next moment, he's very, very hot and whimpering as I rock him in the Lazy Boy. I hate watching Bertram's temperature climb and climb and climb. This afternoon, the thermometer hadn't beeped yet, but it was pushing 103.6. I didn't wait to see how hot he was. He got Motrin and a bath, pronto. Of course, I'm freaking out. When he gets listless and whimpery, that's when I start to panic. It's all I can do to think, "calm down, it's probably nothing." Thirty minutes and a dose of Motrin later, and he's ready to play ball or blocks. Bertram dodged my hypothetical worst fear of him contracting meningitis. This time. Cue freaky, Hitchcock type music...
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