This weekend I realized something that came as quite a surprise to me. Between my husband and I, I am not the overprotective one. I don't know why I just assumed that role would be filled by me, but now I see clearly that it is not me at all and it is all my husband. Happily, he now owns up to it as well.
On Friday Zoë came down with a fever. Of course, she did not have a fever when I dropped her off at daycare, but her teacher called by 10 AM saying I had to come pick her up which I did promptly. It was out of the blue and it was 102.8 for most of the day despite Tylenol. On the way home I called my husband who was quite alarmed and was ready to call the pediatrician. I said I really didn't think it was necessary at this point especially since she had no other symptoms, but he wanted to. "So call," I told him. He did and the nurse explained that we didn't need to bring her in yet, but we should watch her. I resisted saying "I told you so."
She still had a fever Saturday night and early Sunday morning, but by around 7:30 AM her temperature was normal and when that continued despite being awake and running around the house I saw that she was on the mend. My husband, on the other hand, insisted on taking her to the pediatrician. He would not hear that she had no fever and she was looking a lot better. So off the doctor we went. (I considered staying home, but worried what a terrible mother I would be if it turned out something serious was wrong.) In the waiting room we watched as she played with every available toy with her usual abundant energy. My husband turned to me and said, "Who's sick?" and I said, "Not her." He sighed and said something about being glad we came anyway.
After waiting for our turn and the doctor's prognosis declaring her to be getting over a virus -- nothing to worry about, my husband bravely said to our doctor, "For the record, I am the one who wanted to come."