how the notes all bend and reach above the trees

Ethan inherited his daddy's handsomeness. And he inherited my respiratory system. Sorry for that, Ethan. Sorry for that.

Ethan has RAD -- or restrictive airway disease -- which despite the acronym is really anything but rad. It was just one of the many gifts that his bout with RSV back in October stuck him with. We get by and we adjust and each week that doesn't require usage of the nebulizer is worth a celebration. In this case, we've been able to celebrate almost two months without the nebulizer (which I credit entirely to salt therapy). I jinxed it a few days ago, probably like I just did now. We spent today practically attached to the nebulizer, internet video clips from Sesame Street and Max & Ruby books. Restricting the activity of a precocious 10 1/2 month old child is one of those things that probably sounds a lot easier when you're the pediatrician telling the parent to do this.

In actuality, it was cause for me to cry in the bathroom where I spent Ethan's complete nap for the day -- all 8 minutes of it -- washing my face to make myself kind of feel human and dreaming about a double-tall non-fat latte from Starbucks.

It wasn't all bad, though. I realized that one surefire way to get Ethan to kind of sit still is to listen to music. He recently learned to clap his hands (at this stage, though, it's more like slapping the opposite elbow) and so we clapped along as the music played on. We listened to records for a good two hours this afternoon as the rain tapped along against the window of his playroom. It was the bright spot in a cloudy afternoon filled with wheezing and odoriferous mists of Albuterol.