What a weekend. What the urgent care center told us on Friday was just a virus turned out to be strep throat. I’ve never seen you more pitiful than you were this weekend.
I write a lot of things here for posterity, but I doubt that your mother and I will ever forget the feelings evoked by a 106-degree thermometer reading. Or the way you refused to swallow Friday night, the way you smiled and even laughed through closed lips that were damming a reservoir of spit you just couldn’t swallow. Or the way we had to hold you down when the doctor wanted to check your throat. Or the way you spit medicine all over the place.
I know I won’t forget the way you woke up on Sunday, smiling and ready to play. Ready to put the whole ordeal behind us.
