Two nights ago, it was Soren--and not Carl!--that woke us up screaming in the night. He had thrown up in his crib. He was sick and frightened.
I carried him downstairs, still crying, for a bath while Scott cleaned up his bedding. I held him close and kept talking to him calmly but he was inconsolable. He kept sobbing while I peeled off his sticky clothes and put him in the water.
I soaped Soren up and rinsed him off. He cried. I took him out of the bath. He kept crying. I dried him off, with the usually laughter-inducing fanfare. He continued crying.
I was about to put on his diaper when he threw up again.
Back into the bath.
Scott brought down new pajamas. I ran another bath. Soren wailed.
15 minutes later, Soren was clean, warmly-dressed, sitting on the couch between his attentive parents, and still crying. It was 3:30 am and I didn't know how else to console him.
After a moment, Scott noticed that Soren's cries were actually a wailed rececitation of the alphabet. "Kaaaaaaaaaay!" he would cry, tears running down his cheeks. "Deeeeeeeeee!"
When he cried, "Dubble Yooooooooooo!" even I couldn't miss it.
Scott hurried to grab a piece of paper and a crayon, then started to write the letters that our son tearfully dictated. With each letter, Soren became more calm until he was cheerfully requesting his favorites and scribbling over them with his own crayon.
The alphabet couldn't fix sick but it could fix everything else upsetting him. Life was much more managable with his friends, the letters, in it.
I carried him downstairs, still crying, for a bath while Scott cleaned up his bedding. I held him close and kept talking to him calmly but he was inconsolable. He kept sobbing while I peeled off his sticky clothes and put him in the water.
I soaped Soren up and rinsed him off. He cried. I took him out of the bath. He kept crying. I dried him off, with the usually laughter-inducing fanfare. He continued crying.
I was about to put on his diaper when he threw up again.
Back into the bath.
Scott brought down new pajamas. I ran another bath. Soren wailed.
15 minutes later, Soren was clean, warmly-dressed, sitting on the couch between his attentive parents, and still crying. It was 3:30 am and I didn't know how else to console him.
After a moment, Scott noticed that Soren's cries were actually a wailed rececitation of the alphabet. "Kaaaaaaaaaay!" he would cry, tears running down his cheeks. "Deeeeeeeeee!"
When he cried, "Dubble Yooooooooooo!" even I couldn't miss it.
Scott hurried to grab a piece of paper and a crayon, then started to write the letters that our son tearfully dictated. With each letter, Soren became more calm until he was cheerfully requesting his favorites and scribbling over them with his own crayon.
The alphabet couldn't fix sick but it could fix everything else upsetting him. Life was much more managable with his friends, the letters, in it.
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