Woe Is Us.

The sick factor is high in our humble abode. Noses red and sore from wiping, throats chafed from coughing and eyes heavy with bags from interrupted sleep. "I don't need a nap," he says. "Fine, " I say. We continue to play. Two hours later while I nurse the baby to sleep, I sense an eerie silence. Just curled up on the couch, finished storybook by his side.

Don't need a nap, indeed.