Spence is still sick.
(I would like to say that accounts for my 18 voicemail messages piling up on my cell phone, but we all know that is not really the case...)
Dave and I wake up every morning full of hope that Spence is on the mend. We chatter back and forth that we think that he's "over the hump" or "turning the corner." We even flirt with the idea that he'll eat some solid food in the afternoon. Which letter of the BRAT diet will we start with? Toast? Bananas? Spence will nurse a little. Then comes the vomit baptism. And we're back to Pedialyte, one minute nursing sessions and repeated calls to the advice nurse, who assures us these stomach bugs can last 7 to 10 days. Our optimism fades completely. We are deflated. It feels like we are failing him.