I said it before, but this time it's for real. I very much enjoy the game of football, and any other sport you care to name, but the televised version takes up entirely too much time. I have many other more fun options for wasting my days away, thank you; as of now I will refrain from spending so much of any one of them in front of the television. The seven or eight hours yesterday made me feel distinctly stupider today. Then again, some of that could have been the sleep deprivation. Either way.
It has been a VERY long weekend in our house. Harvey took ill on Friday, which makes Thursday the last time that I slept for longer than an hour at a stretch. It goes without saying that the baby cold has been pretty hard on me, emotionally speaking. When I got in the rocking chair for the third time last night I was all out of sentences to pray. I was down to fragments. "Hey God.... help! make better! fix!"
There have been some scattered moments of grace over the weekend, moments which renewed my faith that I am not alone in the creation, redemption, and sustainment of the little Harvester. On Saturday Harvey spiked a fever, and I gave him tylenol but he threw it up thirty minutes later, and then I took his temp and it was 102, but I couldn't give more tylenol, could I? How much absorbs in 30 minutes? I felt certain I would make the wrong decision and that I was completely helpless. So I ran a baby bath and plopped Harvey in it and said on his behalf, "Jesus, take my fever away." Harvey flushed for a second and the next moment he was cool to the touch. I took him out of the bath and his fever was down to 100.5
Then on Sunday, lest I start to develop a magical belief in water, the miracle repeated itself in a slightly different manner. I measured a temp of 102 with Harvey on the changing table, and because of my newfound faith I put my hand on his head and said "Jesus, lower the temperature." I shook the thermometer and took another reading. It was 99.9 "Harvey" I said, "You don't know it yet, but we have an awesome God."
Today Harvey was feeling fairly cool but I wanted to check his temp just to be sure. I took off his diaper, gave him a wipe, and stuck the thermometer in. 102. 102? But that doesn't make sense! He's barely warm. I shook the thing like a Polaroid and took another reading. 99.5. Wait, what? What the hell? Who makes a thermometer with a confidence level of plus or minus two degrees???
Oh wait, here's something. We have an electric wipes warmer, and I've been using the hot wipes to clean the thermometer before putting it in. Do you think that maybe could have had an effect on the reading? Do you think that putting a hot wipe on the tip of the thermometer right before sticking it in his butt could maybe, just maybe, affect the accuracy of a digital thermometer?
So maybe Harvey wasn't really in that much danger after all. But of course, that's what Satan would have you believe.