Children always do this. At the height of your panic, when you are certain that you can endure no more sickness and you spend the money to see the doctor, they start to get better. At least, my children do this, but that may be more of a marker of my low patience threshold for sick children. I’d camp out on the doorstep of a doctor’s house the very first day of an illness if I thought it would help. It is sheer, fervently intentional will on my part that prevents me from responding in the extreme. I have to work on not being hysterical when it comes to health things because it does not come naturally to me.

Owl seems to be doing much better. Fever is gone and he seems perkier than he has been in a few days. I’ve not yet started the antibiotic because I worry that the bowel situation will become exponentially worse, but I suppose I should start that soon. He’s drinking and eating again as well, which is very promising. Let’s hope he is truly on the mend.

We have plans to take Penguin and Owl to a Christmas train event this weekend, complete with Santa and cookies. I was thinking that I was going to have to sit it out if Owl was still unwell, but we may be able to attend yet. We’ll see. I’d hate to miss it, but then, if it were me, the last thing I would want is to be surrounded by holiday merriment and good cheer while I was continually crapping my own pants. The juxtaposition of good external times with the horror unfolding within my gut would just be too much for me. I doubt Owl’s thinking is so advanced, so I’ll assume he feels the same way. Neurotic, that is.