it's a curse

For as long as I can remember, my mom has called my dad superman. She doesn't mean it as a compliment. In fact, she calls it the family curse. We're a bunch of ambitious, overachievers, trying to single-handedly take on the world. And we dont need any help from anyone, anytime, anywhere, thank you very much.

I have the superman curse too and was well on my way to total world domination...until Christmas Eve last year. Because that's when I found my kryptonite:

This is Andrew and he is the center of my world. (Isn't he the cutest lion ever?) He has had me wrapped around his little finger from day one. He is such a good baby...so happy...so sweet...

And recently, so sick. I'm not going to rehash the past month of visits to the ER, doctors, radiologists, oncologists, hemotologists and the week long stint in the hospital. (If you really want to know the story, read my entries from last month.)

We thought things were finally getting better. Even yesterday, although there's now something else wrong, the infections all appeared to be under control because he's not running a fever.

Until this afternoon.

I could hear him crying from the parking lot. One look at him and you can see he's so miserable. He's burning up. He won't eat. Won't drink.

It breaks my heart to see him like this. I would do anything, give anything for someone to finally figure out what's wrong with him so he can finally get better.

This "superman" doesn't know how much more of this she can take!