His low-grade fever began at the outset of the Memorial Weekend holiday. By Monday it had climbed ever higher and even welcomed a raspy cough. Tuesday and Wednesday, we were in the thick of it: 102 degrees, then 103 degrees, runny nose, puffy raccoon eyes—the whole nine yards. Poor Jonas was miserable.
The only comfort he sought was snuggling up close to Mom or Dad, and all the better if our foreheads were touching, with Jonas billowing his hot, government biological weapons-grade, virus-laden breath in our faces. Something as minor as turning our faces away just 25 degrees would send him into a fit. Ok, ok. Breathe on me, please. Whatever will make you happy. I just want to see our happy little guy return.
Tonight at dinner we saw our Jonas “resurface”. While he was somewhat uncharacteristically picky about eating—he would only eat peaches—he jumped around in his seat enthusiastically in response to Ginger and eagerly reached for anything he could get his sticky little hands on. There is still an audible wheezing in his breathing; he sounds like a simmering tea kettle, but hopefully that will abate soon, as well. He’ll be right as rain, just in time for June.
It’s so nice to have him back.