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1972-01-17

Today Clay was well enough to return to daycare, a good thing since B and I both had important meetings (though mine was in the morning and his the afternoon). Every time I returned to my office I braced myself for a flashing red message light on my phone, the daycare people calling to say come get him, he's puking his guts out, but it never happened. When I picked him up they mentioned he'd been pulling at one ear--a possible indication of infection--but mercifully I saw no more of this at home.

So, he's better and I feel like hell. It hit me in the late afternoon; I felt so nauseated that I emptied out the little vinyl bag we use to send his bottles for the day in case I needed to throw up in the car (I didn't). I slept from 6 to 7 while B watched Clay and made dinner. Then the three of us ate--I could not choke down much--and I put Clay to bed.

He did something new in the bath tonight. I was goofing around, putting little tub-toy animals on his head ("It's a frog hat! It's a hippo hat! All the rage in Paris this year!") and letting them tumble back into the water. A while later, after he'd had his fill and we'd drained the tub, he picked up one of these same plastic animals and put it on my head. And laughed uproariously! As though he just couldn't get over what a joker he was. He all but clutched his sides.

I can't exactly characterize why this felt so different. It wasn't the first time he initiated silliness, he frequently initiates his perennial favorite game, Grab A Parent's Glasses. I'm utterly consistent when he does that; I grasp his forearm, erase all expression from my face, and in a firm voice, say "I don't like that."

Garnet Hill, this upscale natural fibers catalog over whose goods I regulary drool is having a big old January sale. I bought two covers for my down comforter (or duvet, if you prefer). One is pale pink flannel, German flannel, which is the softest flannel I've ever laid skin on; it makes this big pink cloud of warmth that's doing wonders to keep my mind off my queasiness. The other one, which I think I'll save for summer, is a cotton percale, white with tiny pink rosebuds.

These were both considerably marked down. They also marked down the cashmere robe I've had my eye on for the past year or two; instead of being nearly $400 it is now nearly $300. I believe I'll pass.

I'm in bed, under the pink cloud of warmth, at the moment. I've been writing these entries from the coziness of the sack these past couple of nights and may well continue. Clay's development seems to be accelerating and I don't want to lose track of it. I already regret not doing a better job of documenting his earlier months.

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