poor pickle

Strange thing happened. That night I wrote of how sick I felt I was sure I was in for it. But I guess I was feeling sympathy symptoms because Liam is the afflicted one. I woke up fine but my poor sweet pickle is full of boogers.

He's back and forth between not acting sick at all and then having screeching fits over nothing. Can you imagine what it's like, being nineteen months old and not understanding your body, and having such a strong cold? I'd have mood swings too.

Oh wait, I already do.

He cries and whines when I wipe his nose, and screams and writhes away from me when I use the rubber bulb to suck boogers out of his nose. He's inconsolable. Then, as soon as it's done, he hugs me and cuddles with me on the couch. It's like, he knows it has to be done because otherwise he'd just keep smearing his boogies all over his face with his hand and arm, confused by it completely, and even though he hates the little rubber nozzle in his nose, he realizes it's a temporary solution. I still can't help but feel like I am scarring him though, the way he screams.

It was a long night of coughing and cursing Moesha that ended when he fell back asleep at 7:20. We slept until 12:45. I'm still tired.

Weekend, take me away and make Liam better.