Pneumonia is Pnot Cool.

So Tate's been rockin' this horrible fever the last few days. It hovered around 103 for the most part, and Tylenol would get it all the way down to oooh, 100. But the doctor's office always says to wait till it lasts longer than 3 days, so I didn't call. Today, though, Tate woke from a four hour nap with a temp of 105. That got me on the horn to the doctor.

Tate, Nora and I made the field trip to the doc's at 3 pm. We got out of there at ten to 5. It was a long ordeal made up of swabs up Tate's nose, finger prickings, Spongebob Band-Aids, my realization that Tate seems to think that Band-Aids will rob him of his soul, the removal of said Band-Aid, chest X-rays, lots of tears (mostly from Tate...), and lots of waiting. It was rather nerve-wracking. I was fairly sure that it wasn't anything life-altering, but really, what do I know? Waiting those last 30 minutes in the little 10x10 room with Nora chewing on a tongue depressor and Tate asleep on the floor in the corner was not very relaxing for me. I let my mind wander way too much, and the diagnosis of pneumonia was honestly almost a relief. Pneumonia can be fixed.

Well, it can if Tate would agree to take the medicine for it. He was game at first, but after the first squirt into his month, he quickly changed his tune. I did manage to get it all in his mouth, but about 10 seconds later it pretty much all ended up harked up onto the floor. He does not enjoy imitation banana flavor, it seems. I have no idea how I'm going to get him to take this stuff 19 more times. After that whole debacle, he wouldn't even agree to chug some Tylenol, which he usually is cool with.

Poor kid. He's so listless and devoid of his usual spunk. Hopefully it passes soon. I'm going to bed, because I got no sleep last night and it was a long and wearing day, and I am wiped OUT. No wonder I decided to reward myself with hot wings, cheese fries, and wine. Yeah, the plan to lose weight is going just peachy.