This morning, I heard Spencer say, "Yook at me!" (so, I quickly looked), and he had his hands on the floor as he walked his feet up the wall (why he won't do this at Little Gym is beyond me). And I realized, thirty six hours post-virus-onset, he is literally climbing the walls.
Thankfully, his speech therapist was happy to see him this morning (she'd been fully briefed on the past couple of days). He did great work for her.
Later today, he told me he was a spider.
He asked to hold Evie on the bean bag, and then he asked me to take their picture. I obliged.
Then he wanted to dance with her. She obliged.
He's a lucky boy.
And she's a lucky lady.
In a strange twist of irony, Evelyn was up hourly last night with (drumroll, please) a cold. Ha! Anything that keeps a baby up all night is obviously not a laughing matter, but it was just so odd. The timing. The diagnosis. Oh, life. It just keeps throwing curveballs.
This is how she looked most of the day (when she wasn't dancing with Spencer)--
Hopefully this is all of our allotted sickness for the next six months, packed into a few fun-filled days (and nights).
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