Sick babies (or toddlers, or I guess children- he's long outgrown being a baby and describing anyone that tears around like Fuss 'toddler' risks public ridicule) make for nights like run-on sentences punctuated by literatures foremost advocate of semi-colon and ellipsis.
But this morning has been one of high spirits, mostly because I can't remember the last 4am wake up call he gave me. Being entertaining in the wee hours is easier to pull off as a special one night only extravaganza than as a record breaking Broadway run- you've got reserves to draw on, and the audience isn't as nit-picky from long acquaintance with your favorite techniques and stratagems.
Last night was a microcosom of the first two-odd years of his life, which makes me simultaneously wonder how I did it, and grateful that I can't remember.
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