This afternoon, Hunter awoke wailing from his nap. When I went in to check on him, he kept declaring, "No! This is my.... No! This is my...." (Unfortunately, this phrase with an added object seems to be his current favorite thing to say lately. It was cute when I'd kiss various body parts and he'd cover them coyly, saying, "No! This is my tummy! No! This is my elbow!" but now that it's become nigh ubiquitous, it's no longer so cute.)

He was drenched with sweat, which was understandable, considering that he'd buried himself in his comforter even though the house was stiflingly warm and stuffy. I found his sippy cup by his pillow and tried to hand it to him, asking if he wanted some water. He yanked it out of my hand ("No! This is my water!") and flung it over the bedrail to the floor.

Not a happy camper.

I tried rubbing his back, and he shoved my arm away.

"Hunter, would you like an ice cube in your water?"

"No! NO ice coob! NO ice coob!"

"Okay, sweetie. No ice cube."

Sniffle. Slightly more calmly: "No ice coob?"

"No ice cube."

Pause.

"Ice coob?"

"Would you like water with an ice cube?"

Nodding. "Ice coob."

Then he started crying again. Shawn came in to see what he could do while I picked Hunter's sippy cup off the floor and went to the kitchen to get an ice cube.

When I got back, Shawn was kneeling by the bed, and Hunter was wailing heartbreakingly. Shawn told Hunter that Mama was here with the water, and I placed it in Hunter's blindly reaching hands.

Without breaking a beat (or diminishing volume), Hunter sobbed loudly, "T'ank oo!"


Even the bad days aren't so bad.