So much normality in one little bundle.

Evelyn is sick. Not in a special snowflake “oh god my baby is SICK” way, but in a normal “every baby gets a bad cold” kind of way. Despite the snot and the two hours of inconsolable screaming last night, it all feels very normal. Eve is sick, and she’s acting like a sick baby and I am tired, and bored from walking around the house patting her on the back while she wails.

I’m even typing this from bed, while she drapes her small sad self across my tummy, snuffling and grumbling about the indignity of a spring cold.

Things have happened, things I haven’t written about because, turns out, having three children is a bit of work, and toddlers are more intense than I remember.

Evelyn learned to walk. Like, properly walk. She totters around the house all day, throwing herself at any furniture  available to catch her unbalanced form. She’ll drop down to a crawl for a few metres, before deciding that height beats speed any day, and clambering back to her feet. She’s wobbly, and her right knee needs strengthening, but she’s off and walking.

She says thank you (dug’nen) when you hand her things. It’s one of her few functional words and is probably one of the cutest things she’s done since the last cute thing she did.

We saw the geneticist and left with a diagnosis of Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. This was expected. It might be causing her feeding issues, it might not. We’re told to stick with pediasure and see how she does. As long as she doesn’t lose weight, we’re all good.

Life continues. I’m writing fiction, waiting for November and NaNoWriMo to start, growing a garden and just being.

It’s all very nice, and normal, and pleasant. Except for the snot. The snot and wailing isn’t pleasant.