Today at Naptime

Elspeth has a colossal cough--Martin and I had the same one and it lasted for two months. And then one day it slipped away. So I guess we were hoping the same thing would happen for Elspeth. I finally gave in today and told Martin to call and set up an appointment at the doctor's, so Elspeth is going in on Monday and still I'm hoping it will up, pack, and leave before dawn so we won't have to give her rounds of antibiotics.

We've been pinning poor Beatrix down now twice daily for the past week for eye drops. I have no idea where she picked up her nasty eye infection, but giving drops to a two-year old is no picnic. We have to clamp every appendage down while Martin tries to pry her eyelids open as she screams. She's a slick little seal under our fingers and even slicker when she's covered in eye drops that haven't made it into her eyes. Childhood is full of illnesses and I thank God for every illness that has an end in health. One walk through our neighborhood graveyard--a favorite of ours for good walks since it is on a ridge over town--and I am always struck by the number of tiny gravestones. I have heard that in some places with historically low child-survival rates, parents didn't even bother naming their children until they were a certain age. Certainly this can't be true!

Elspeth was heaving with another cough in the middle of her sleep this afternoon when her eyes suddenly popped open and she reached two arms around my neck and said, "I love you!" Finally I eased her into sleep by wrapping myself around her little body so her arms and legs could relax and she finally surrendered; the coughing subsided a bit; and she is sleeping.

Outside the sky is darkening to coal-black, the leaves are celery-green, and Merry is home, so I'd better sign off.