All is not quiet on the Western Front

Evie is sick again. She has a fever, diarrhea, a runny nose a bad cough and a blazing hot diaper rash. We took her to the pediatrician today where we learned she has a nasty sinus infection. She is now on antibiotics and we are to continue to push fluids. She has been pretty cranky (as I imagine one who’s hind-end is chapped would be) and I have done all I can to try to comfort my little lamb. I have held her, rocked her, sang to her, read to her, played with her, given her bottles at her beckon call. I have slathered her little bottom in bag balm and A&D Ointment and given her soothing warm baths.
But when she became over-tired and whiney, falling over herself and conking on the floor, collapsing into a weeping heap, I knew it was time for a nap.

But she has other ideas. She is refusing to nap. She is just standing in her crib, holding the rails like a prisoner, screaming. She needs to nap, I need her to nap. Her eyes have taken on a reptilian quality, she is whining, she is inconsolable, she refuses her bottle, she doesn’t want to be held, her diaper is dry. And yet there she stands in protest, convinced that napping is the last possible thing she should be doing. And so continues the fun that is the relationship between mother and daughter. I tell her what is best for her; she stands in defiance, telling me how wrong I am. And so we wait each other out, seeing which one will blink first. I tell you, I have no plans to blink today.