I tested Cohen last night. This wasn't the first time. The first time was a total accident, I saw a finger and started testing, only to realize half way through that the finger was half as small as I am used to. I don't know where my mind was at the time, but it had left me. Last night I sought after that little toe.
Cohen hadn't been eating all day. All he wanted was his sippy cup, sound familiar? Granted the kid is NOT losing weight and hasn't started peeing through his diaper every two hours, but I have been noticing him stumbling a lot, smelling sweet and last night he had vomited all over his bed. So, I got paranoid. I told Eric he should go test him because I didn't want to know the result. Eric thought I was nuts and ignored me. Cohen had fallen back asleep so I too tried to go to sleep. Like that was happening. My thoughts were all over the place. I had the whole scenario played out in my mind. It went somewhat like this.....
Picture me hunched over Cohen in his crib, testing his toe, seeing a number in the low 300's, screaming at Eric to wake up, falling on the floor in a pile of tears, cursing heaven, swearing off having any more kids, at which point Eric slaps me to snap out of it. And the rest is all "a little bit of history repeated".
Now, who's to say this will never happen to me. I guess by posting about this it is somewhat preparing me for the possibility. If it plays out like it did for Ethan there will be post entitled, I told you so, somewhere around mid-February. In the end, Cohen was 92. I hate it when Eric's right, but in this case I didn't mind.