My Indian name: Stands with a Fist Full of Worry

My littlest man is battling the ickiest of ickiests, a staph infection. It started with a diaper rash. Red splotches. My trusty ally, A & D ointment, wasn't cutting it. Took him to the doctor for his checkup and the rash was deemed nonfungal — a good sign. BUT ... two weeks later, he breaks out with a bigger bump, then another. The first one drained, and we thought we were done with the rash-turned nasty bumps, but the second one on his thigh grew and grew. Then came the 103-degree fevers. David knows a thing or two about medical stuff, so we waited to see if this bump would drain, thus halting the fevers. It didn't happen. He went to see Dr. Valkova yesterday and was promptly put on antibiotics. The kid is doing better today, and the infection site is getting smaller. But I'm still concerned. I wouldn't allow him to sleep alone in his crib last night. Instead I made a pallet for him on the living room floor while I laid on the couch. I couldn't sleep, and was constantly touching him to see if the fever was coming back. Then, I made the biggest MISTAKE ... I watched "My Sister's Keeper" on HBO. I'm not one for seeing children in peril, but I could not stop watching it. The movie was total emotional manipulation — a cancer-stricken girl with an oppressive mom— but it got me thinking about all the stuff I try not to think about. You see, I have a problem. I'm an chronic worrier. I even worry about other people's shit.

He's babbling to Liam right now. So cute. Oh, and this week he started walking. Things aren't so bad.