…than that phone call from daycare when you’re going about your day.

Yesterday, I got the call while I was on my way to drop my brother’s lunch off, the lunch he’d forgotten on the counter on his way out the door.

“I’m calling about Liam’s fever.”

Of course, I was thinking to myself, what fever, but I played it cool and didn’t let on that I was really confused and really panicked.

“Yeah, it’s 101.2, that’s without the degree added.  He’s been fussing all day.”

Again, I was confused.  My child was laughing when I dropped him off.  Had things gone left so quickly?  Did he have (another) ear infection?  Would this be the one where they recommended tubes?  Am I a bad mom?  (All roads lead to that, by the way.)

I dropped my brother’s lunch off, raced down the beltline, and called the ped on the way to daycare.  I arranged a sick visit within a half-hour, pulled up to where Liam was, and hopped out, with the car still running.

When I burst into the infant room, Liam, dressed in his finest shark onesie, turned and smiled at me.

Play it cool, Cheri.  He has a fever. “Hiiii sweetie!”

The women taking care of him all looked really confused.

“They called you?!”

So, in the midst of baby snuggles, I gleaned that it was another little boy in Liam’s class, not Liam, with the fever.  Apparently that was lost in translation when they’d asked for the front desk to call a mom.  I scooted out, and headed back to work.  I’m sorry for the little one with the fever.  But glad Liam was okay.