The Hard Days

A young girl is having her temperature taken by ear thermometer. A pair of hands reaches from offscreen to hold the thermometer in place, brushing her hair aside. Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash.

I'm trying to write one of these every week, but unfortunately last week was a bit of a roller-coaster, what with the ongoing fascist coup. Doubtless there will be plenty of words on that in the future, but this is not that.

One of my goals for this year is to write every day. I keep something that I call a "daybook," which I'm realizing now is literally what "diary" means. Typical tech guy slaps a new name on a thing and claims he invented it... The goal is flexible, so even writing "I don't feel like writing today" is valid. Looking over my past entries, I thought I had at least one "don't feel like it" in there, but I think I was recalling this particularly rough day. The below is my diary entry from January 18, 2025, when I opened my notebook to write "no thank you" and instead had to celebrate how well we did at caring for our sick boy.

Sometimes it's enough to make it to the end of a long day intact. There was creative energy in this body at an earlier time, probably, but that energy has been alchemized into parenting.

Milo needed a lot of extra attention today, especially as he began spiking a fever. That little snugglet was so out of it and so miserable. His little body like a furnace against mine, a never-ending fountain of drool and snot draining from him, it was all I could do to stroke his hair and let him know he's loved. He is so loved.

We orchestrated a plot to re-up his Tylenol before it wore off, sneaking in with his dim red nightlight and plucking his sleeping self from the crib. He hates that Tylenol, but it was much easier to get him to take some when he was so drowsy. When we had finished, Trixie gave him some milk and dozed right off – exactly like I thought he would. He put up a little resistance, squirming a bit on his way into the crib, but with some gentle pats on the back he was quite neutralized.

Sneaking out into the kitchen, I felt triumphant – like a quarterback picking the right play. I felt such a strong team bond with Trixie. We had to get to sleep, but I had a serious urge to run a victory lap with her and stay up to eat snacks and drink drinks.

Alas, we chose the responsible path – but that's part of how we're doing this parenting thing so well. Both making more of an effort to choose right, especially for our baby boy.