Life is always the most humbling when it spins something your way that you didn’t expect. Last week, Son #2 was fighting some sort of illness that made him cough and be inconsolable at times. This is an interesting point because I’ve been thinking that I haven’t written too much about him. Well, the culmination of his personality, sickness, and a trip to the ER warrant this latest entry.

Let me just say that Son #2 is NOTHING like Son #1. I mean, they both have similar attributes as they come from the same gene pool. But when it comes down to brass tacks, these two require a different style of parenting. The most basic need: Eating. Son #1 never had an issue taking a bottle. Whatever liquid you loaded in it, he would drink. There was a day where he even wanted to sip on some corn-squeezins. Son #2 on the other hand. Where’s the boob? He needs to have a boob in his face to eat, sleep, and relax. I guess at the lowest common denominator of genetics, all males want this. The point is, Son #2 wants the boob. When he refuses it, something is rotten in the state of Denmark. That’s a Shakespearean reference.

The other night, Son #2 didn’t want to eat, sleep or be held. This went on throughout the dead of the night, or so I was told by my wife. I don’t sleep much but when I do, you can easily drive an M1 Abrams through my bedroom and I wouldn’t budge. Strangely, I woke up for the show that night. The screaming had been going on for hours and my wife was at wits end. I took him and headed downstairs for a change of scenery. We wandered around in the dark while he screamed his little lungs out. My wife came down after gathering up the little composure she had left and decided to take him for a ride in the car. Driving around the neighborhood, he didn’t make a peep but was wide awake staring in the vast darkness of the early morning hours. My wife brought him back home and he started up again. At this point, as a parent you start to worry about your kid. A second child usually has to take the process much further than the first to get a rise out of his parents. We got to that place with Son #2 and my wife decided to take him to the emergency room. I stayed at home with Son #1 who was pleasantly sleeping through the entire episode.

Hours past and Son #1 woke up. I explained that his brother was sick and had to go to the hospital. We sat watching TV on a day I should have been at work and waited for that text message from my wife that said Son #2 was doing fine. Instead, I got a phone call telling me otherwise. While in the ER, Son #2 began vomiting. He hadn’t eaten much but there was enough projectile puke to concern the resident physician in the ER to place him on IV and take blood. My wife was frantic. She hadn’t slept in 24 hours, had been puked on by her baby, and was now in the ER with her youngest son with an IV in his foot. I guess I am not going to work. We made some emergency phone calls to get a friend to watch Ryan until my father could get there. I took new clothes, water, and husbandly support to my wife.

It’s humbling to see your 6 month old son on an IV and your wife completely disheveled in the ER. Suddenly work looked much more appealing. But Son #2 was now calm and sleeping. I took the opportunity to hold him while my wife changed in to fresh clothes not covered in baby vomit. We waited for hours in that tiny little room taking turns holding the baby while the other stepped out to call family and friends.

Neither of us had a chance to eat so a friend brought us comfort food from McDonald’s. One of the nurses in the ER nearly shit herself when she saw us devouring our fries. Apparently, bringing food into your room in the ER is evil. Nurse Ratchet went on to bemoan us by saying that McDonald’s is the worst offender because the smell of the food alone will cause a peristaltic chain reaction amongst patients launching an epic puke-fest. The smell of McDonald’s upsets other patients? Has this genius nurse not smelled the excrement slathered on plates being shoveled out of the hospital kitchen?

Eventually the blood work came back. All results were negative which were both a good and a bad thing. At least you know he doesn’t have swine flu. But then again, what’s wrong with him? After everything was said and done, we were told by the ER doctor that if a baby won’t take a boob that’s a bad thing. No shit. Son #1 was happy to see his brother when we got home. I felt bad because I was so short with him earlier in the morning. But Son #1 was a trooper through it all. The next day, our pediatrician looked over Son #2 and the blood work results. He found nothing of concern and reiterated that if the symptoms reoccur to take our little one to the ER at Children’s Hospital.

So there was nothing wrong with Son #2, he was just sick. While this is only a small blip on the radar of all the maladies both Son #1 and #2 will see in their lives, the whole episode remains hugely humbling. For one, it’s never cool to see an IV in your kid. It may be necessary given the state of affairs, but you always want to protect them. Second, you can’t eat McDonald’s hamburgers in the ER no matter how hungry you are. And lastly, you never like to see your little one suffer and not be able to calm them down. You want to be their sanctuary.

The flip side is this: Son #2 got our attention. There’s always a concern of the dreaded ‘Second Kid Syndrome.’ Interestingly enough, Son #2 never lets us forget that he’s around. He’s loud and makes his presence known.