Dear Connor: 15 months

Dear Connor,
On Saturday you turned 15 months old and to celebrate, you got to take your very first trip to the emergency room. You were running a fever of 103.7 and when we checked you again after giving you Motrin, it had gone up to a terrifying 104.6. Your Dad with the flu and I, pregnant with the future bane of your existence/lifelong friend, (feeling queasy) set off for our big adventure.
Your Dad took you in while I parked the car and when I entered the ER, it occurred to me that he had never been to an Emergency Room before or he was so wacked out on Nyquil Day that he had forgotten, because he looked at me matter of factly and said, “I checked him in, they said someone would be right out.” He was standing by the doors, not wanting to sit down expecting, a doctor to come bursting through the doors to save you. We stood there for a minute, me trying to decide if now was the time to say, “Uh, you know by right out they meant in 45 minutes or so?” but instead opted for, “Let’s go sit down”.
Now in your fathers defense there is something you should know about him. He used to live in Hawaii and Hawaii is a utopia. The emergency rooms in Hawaii have no waiting in line and if there is, a lovely maiden in a grass skirt will come over to serve you cocktails in a coconut. In Hawaii it’s a perfect 80 degrees year round and it completely ruins you for living anywhere else for the rest of your life. But I digress…
You didn’t like the ER nurses and didn’t want them to touch you. When they wrapped a piece of tape around your toe to get your heart rate, you screamed like they had just shoved bamboo shoots under your toenails. You kicked and screamed so, that eventually they gave up completely. After the trauma of the toe wrap, a rectal temperature reading and pretending that the stethoscope was a hot iron branding you forever, they sent us back to the waiting room, giving you a healthy dose of Tylenol to drop the fever further. Two and a half hours later, we were still in the waiting room and you alternated between fits of screaming and laughter while we played Patty-Cake for the 200th time.
I might have mentioned that your father had the flu and that I had morning sickness and by midnight we were both sick and tired and your fever had broken an hour before, so we opted to go home. You didn’t get to see a Dr. that night, but did get to go to the Urgent Care center in the morning, where the Dr, pronounced you to have strep throat.
Today, I took you to your pediatrician just so I could have one more person tell us that you were in fact going to live through this and because I was worried as first thing this morning, you chugged 8ozs of sippy cup and then promptly vomited the contents of your stomach into my lap. I drove home from the Dr’s office feeling relieved and wishing desperately that I could have a Margarita.
Right now, you are running wild around the living room, deciding for the third night in a row, that no, in fact you aren’t going to bed at 7pm, as you completely take advantage of the fact that Mommy and Daddy don’t want to leave you in the crib to cry with a sore throat.
So, happy 15 months, Connor! We’re so glad you won’t remember this one.
Love,
Mommy