It's 3:07 a.m. as I begin to type, and I've barely been to bed.
The husband and I turned in about 12, but then the boy prince decided to wake up and cough up a lung. I mean, seriously
. I've been up with him for the last hour, re- reading The Greedy Python for the 137th time today, checking Elmo's temperature for what has to be an uncomfortable number of times, and using the snot- sucker to clear his airways. Hatchling's that is, not Elmo's.
I believe the boy is finally going to sleep. Poor kid. He has this awful cough. Not an 'I can't breathe cough', just a nice 'there is snot at the back of my throat and maybe, just maybe, if I cough hard enough to gag, I will dislodge it and all my worries will be over'. We've gagged, but the snot is still there.