Today is a very sad day. It started off as a wonderful day. Katie got up and dressed before the timer, ate breakfast timely, and Katie was all-around cooperative. She was having an especially good time playing with a rubber exam glove she got yesterday. A nurse inflated it for her and drew a smiley face to entertain Katie while Mom visited with the doctor. Katie called the glove "Nemo." She said it was a spiky fish, and played with the fingers by pushing them into the body of the glove.
Then Katie took Nemo to the bathroom. The bathroom trip was going swimmingly. The adults were eating breakfast. A shriek rang out from the bathroom. The kind of shriek that accompanies loss of limb and such. Both parents rush to aid their daughter. Nemo died! The horror! Beloved Nemo has left this earth, never to return again! The wailing! "When can I get another?" Oh, the wailing! "Katie, take a deep breath," I said. "I can't," came her halting, sobby reply.
Ten minutes later, all better.