10:30 and the night's just getting underway

Ezra just came staggering into my office not long ago doubled over with stomach pain. In our many collective years of parenting (don't you hate when companies add up all the years each partner has worked in the industry, and then they say, "Collectively, we have over 327 years of experience," as if that actually meant anything? But I don't mean that, I mean five years with one kid plus nearly four with another plus nearly two with the third, which is completey different)--where was I? In our many collective years of parenting, Stupid Daddy and I have had maybe one bout of stomach upset to deal with.

I am really grateful for this stretch of good luck. But because of it, I had no idea what to do for Ezra. Whenever I have severe stomach pain, I writhe around a lot and moan and talk about dying. It seems to help, but I just didn't feel right recommending it to him.

So I kept instinctively rubbing his tummy and pressing my hand gently into it, which made him scream, "Stop it!" I deduced from this response that I wasn't doing the right thing. Many other mothers might not have picked up on the message, but I'm really sensitive so I could tell.

He seems to have made it back to sleep, with some occasional rather histrionic crying out.

There's a stomach bug going around, so maybe we've been hit. I fear it will be a long night.