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The chest cold started last week and has been simmering and festering and generally wreaking havoc. The domino effect of poor Whuffle’s fall asleep/wake up coughing/scream/fall asleep cycle has rendered him exhausted even now as he’s starting to shake the virus itself. For myself, I’m completely useless as to avoid coughing I have to dope myself up on so much cold medicine that I feel like that old Sudafed “medicine head” commercial where the guy’s head is made out of a balloon and floats away. It’s like the blind leading the blind, only it’s the useless caring for the exhausted.

This weekend was a total flop and today has been one of the more miserable days of my parenting career. Tantrum, tantrum, tantrum, tantrum, lunch, tantrum, tantrum, tantrum, afternoon tea, tantrum, tantrum, tantrum. I put P into bed at 5PM – despite it being way too late for a nap (which we’d attempted twice without success) and way too early for bed – simply because he was so upset that he needed some kind of outlet for his existential crisis and found it via throwing himself either at me, the floor, the wall, or any number of inanimate objects on which he could seriously bruise himself. In the interest of his own safety, I confined him in the closest we have to a padded cell. And then… he calmed down. I was going to retrieve him after a few minutes when the worst of his crisis had worn off… but he was so happy. Chit chatting to his bear and chirping and just the happiest noises I’d heard all day. So, I didn’t. And then, he fell asleep. Whether he sleeps through the night now will be anyone’s guess, but I suppose the world was just too much for him and he needed to retreat to his chambers to compose his thoughts.

He’s getting much better at expressing his thoughts. He’s picking up signs very quickly, he’s picked up “home” and “strawberry” after I’ve shown them to him three or four times. I still have to prompt him quite a bit to get him to use words (signed or spoken), but he will sometimes ask for things specifically or identify what he has. Judging by the signs he uses, he’s fascinated with balloons, though it’s unclear if he’s just decided that “balloon” is a multi-purpose sign whose other purposes we should have intuited by now.

I only wish he could communicate some of these things more clearly when he’s in the throes of emotional turmoil rather than simply hurling himself into furniture, but these things take time. Who knows, perhaps today’s problems could have all been solved with a balloon… but I’ll never know until he tells me.

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