We’ve all had a cold and the past few days have been miserable. Poor little Tage has had the worst of it, I think, if for no other reason than that he can’t tell us how he’s feeling or do anything to make himself feel better. I’m not always so good at guessing what it is that he wants or needs, so he gets pretty frustrated at times. Ordinarily he’s a pretty easy-going little guy, and when I get it wrong he usually just keeps directing me until I finally get it right. When he’s feeling less than his best, however, it’s a whole different story. He seems to interpret every little misstep as the most egregious insult, and his reactions are not a pretty sight to behold. He screams, he hits, he throws things, and, perhaps worst of all for sensitive, loving parents, he sobs. Great, wracking sobs, with tears flowing fast and furious down his fat little cheeks. It’s enough to break even a heart of stone.

Just now he’s still asleep in the bedroom, so I’ve had a few moments for myself, to make a bit of breakfast and put on a pot of coffee. One of the good things about him being sick is that he breathes very loudly, so there’s no danger of him waking without my noticing. One of the most flagrant violations of the Tage Tjerngren Rulebook for Parents is not to respond immediately (at once, that is, do not even think of finishing up the sentence you’re typing or taking a last gulp of coffee — time is of the essence here) at the first sign of the baby stirring from sleep.