…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.