Write about: the fever.
Max managed to get past the 15 month mark without contracting a fever, so I guess I can't complain that he didn't make it to 15 months and three days. We're pretty sure it's related to teething but we're going to keep a close eye on things and have him checked out if it persists or gets too high.
He still managed to have a good time tearing around the coffee shop with me in town this morning. But then, he's never really been overly bothered by being sick.
During the daytime, anyway.
I am a beach, besieged by a burning ocean's fiery waves. They crash down on me, again and again, until the passage of time dies away and each moment becomes forever. Each wave suffocates me for an agonizingly long heartbeat before receding, always taking a souvenir of my flesh with them as they go.
They are wearing me down, slowly but with complete certainty. There is no hurry, no reason to rush. They are supremely confident of the end result: they will continue until there is nothing of me left to drag into their depths.
One might think I would grow numb, that the heat would subside. Not so. Each wave burns as dearly as the last. The wait for the next arrival is torture.
Distant voices whisper empty promises of relief. Of treatments that will save me from this place. Let them try! the waves scream as they charge the beach once more. They fill my ears with roaring, mocking laughter.
Let them try.