Dear Zack & Jadyn,

You’re getting a combined letter this month, kiddies. Why? Well, because I had planned to write Zack’s yesterday, but I instead had to take care of Zack while mommy took Jadyn to the doctor’s office, and then had to meet mommy and Jadyn at the hospital when the doctor sent them to the emergency room. Oh yes, good times, my children. Good times. And the hits just keep on comin’.

Though your births were 25 months apart, your current stages of development are almost identical in two ways: you cannot remain healthy for more than three consecutive minutes, and you cry inconsolably, ferociously and at length when you don’t get your way.

Some people—you might call them “parents” or “adults”—are equipped to handle these challenges. I, apparently, am neither, because right now I am only just barely suppressing the urge to run out the door and down the street screaming “AAGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” while yanking clumps of hair from my scalp.

The past month has been characterized most predominantly by illness and antibiotics. You both developed double ear infections, which the doctor first tried to treat with amoxicillin, then augmentin, and, most recently, somethingacin or somethingatin or somethingaxil—it’s all a blur to me at this point. Suffice to say, you have been sucking down antibiotics non-stop for the better part of a month, if not more. This would all be well and fine if not for the fact that: a.) according to some studies, the non-stop consumption of antibiotics can apparently cause the earth to suddenly spin off of its axis and crash into the sun, and b.) you’re still sick!

Actually, Zack, you finally seem to be doing OK, which is nice, because last week you were projectile vomiting and, when you ran out of projectiles, gagging uncontrollably. You also were afflicted with diarrhea, and, without going into detail, I will advise you to never let your child run around bare-assed—particularly in a room with a light-colored carpet—when said child is afflicted with diarrhea. (Also, if anyone reading this knows how to remove a stubborn carpet stain, by all means, do tell.)

Jadyn, you commenced to vomiting last Friday, and your bout with diarrhea was close behind. By Sunday morning, you were extremely lethargic—which, if it wasn’t for the fact that you were sick, would have been completely delightful, since you were willing to just lie against my chest and snuggle and drift in and out of sleep instead of kicking your legs, attempting to slice my face open with your razor-sharp nails and grunting like a pissed-off water buffalo in an effort to get me to carry you about the house and find something new for you to do every 2.5 seconds.

Yesterday, you spiked a fever and vomited again, which precipitated the aforementioned trips to the doctor’s office and ER. Your mother and I had to hold you while two nurses obtained a urine sample via a catheter, and if I didn’t know it was for your own good, I’d have started swinging at people—particularly people who, when attempting to insert a catheter into my infant daughter, say things to each other like, “Is that it? That’s it, right?” “No, that’s it, isn’t it?” and “Dad, are you doing OK?” I told them I’d be doing better when the procedure was over, and they tried to comfort me by telling me that it wasn’t hurting you, which might have been comforting were it not for your blood-curdling screams.

They determined that your condition was nothing more serious than a run-of-the-mill bug, so we got you home and in bed, where you slept fairly well, but, with the exception of a 30-minute period following today’s afternoon nap, you have still been running a fever and are generally behaving in a manner that suggests that you are completely miserable … in fact, you just now began moaning and crying, two sounds I’d so hoped to not hear come out of this torture device known as a baby monitor until about eight or so hours from now.

Tomorrow, your mother is working and your daycare provider is on vacation, so daddy will be taking care of you both from around 7 a.m. until around 2:30 p.m., and, yes, I know your mother takes care of you all day all the time, so why should it be such a big deal for me to do the same, right? Right—except, here’s a little secret: daddy and mommy each have strengths and weaknesses. One of mommy’s strengths is that she is fantastic at caring for you two beautiful little cherubs non-stop for hours at a time without completely losing her freaking mind. It is a strength that I am so grateful she possesses, because, you see, daddy—well, daddy, for the most part, does fine caring for you two, except during those moments when you don’t cooperate and/or throw a crying fit, two things that you only do roughly 52 times per hour. When that happens, well, that’s when daddy almost talks himself into believing that you’ll both be fine if he just leaves you in front of the TV with some toys, locks himself in the bathroom and meditates with his iPod on until mommy gets home.

Now, listen: clearly, daddy’s burnt out right now, but I’m sure that my state of burnout will pass, or at least subside to the point that I can temporarily refrain from wandering around the house muttering to myself and making up songs containing lyrics that are all rated NC-17. It’s been a tough month … but you are both beautiful children, and I continue to be beyond grateful that you picked your mother and I to be your parents.

I love you both very, very much.

Love, Daddy

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