He wakes up from a long nap and spews all over himself at daycare. By the time I got there, his temperature was up to 103. I hate that. Having had a temperature over 102 only two or three times since I was in middle school (if not longer), I'll never get used to babies' and toddlers' ridiculously high temperatures every time they get sick. And they speed with which they bounce back.
So daycare called me to let me know that he had vomited - big time. By the time I got there, despite his high fever and the bright pink spots on his cheeks from said fever, he was running around the multipurpose room like he'd been fed rocket fuel. I got him home and tried to lure him into at least sitting for a few minutes with some Fraggle Rock, and that worked just long enough to get some Tylenol into him and clean off his feet - yes, he'd managed to get barf in his shoes somehow.
After that, he promptly drank a cup of water, a cup of diluted juice and ate half a sleeve of whole wheat crackers. Guess he was hungry after loosing all that food. Then, well fueled, he was off like a rocket through the house, getting out the broom to play with it, bashing things with his sticks and generally being the Ragsy I know and love, only a fraction more tired.
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