Rusty was very sick on his third birthday. Kevin and I took him and Tommy to the doctor that morning and as he was completely limp, draped across his dad’s lap, in a small, sad voice, Rusty told the doctor, “It’s my berfday.” She immediately took pity on him.
The day started out fairly okay. Rusty was opening his gifts by about 7 am. He wasn’t really interested in them, but he unwrapped them anyway. One gift was a toy Robin (as in Batman and Robin). He quickly handed it over to Billy saying, “I’m Batman. You be Robin.” Oh, well. I tried.
But it was only about 15 minutes later that poor Rusty’s birthday was no longer much fun. We figure he was on the verge of dehydration and was suffering from really bad tummy cramps. He would just cry in inconsolable pain for what felt like hours. After a visit to the doctor, a yes-he’s-low-on-fluids-but-not-so-bad-we-need-to-send-him-to-the-hospital diagnosis, some Gatorade via a syringe, and some extra love, Rusty finally got some sleep and didn’t seem quite so miserable.
The doctor told us to keep his diet bland and avoid sugar for a couple of days … I made scrambled eggs and toast for his birthday dinner, instead of the requested spaghetti, but I couldn’t deny him a birthday cupcake (which I had made the day before – that’s what I get for planning ahead).
He ate some of the cupcake and then he was ready for bed.
Tommy had no problems enjoying his cupcake and what was left of Rusty’s …
It wasn’t a very good birthday for such a funny little man. He woke up the next day not quite back to normal but acting alive again…and he ate a full cupcake (or two).
