Today is the first day of the rest of your life

Evan collapsed only 15 minutes into the now-familiar cry-fest last night, too exhausted and spent to keep up the good fight. I found him 12 hours later, when I regrettably had to wake him in order to get Julia to school, lying exactly where he had fallen. He clearly had not moved a single muscle all night long. Even his diaper was dry, as if his body was too overwhelmed and in need of rest to even so much as eliminate its own waste.

We spent a delightful morning shopping together and he chattered away at me cheerfully, fully engaged. When left to his own devices, he entertained himself in his usual way, rather than staring blankly out the window. He ate heartily when presented with food. And at nap time, he whimpered for less than 15 seconds before lying down to go to sleep. As fast as The Strange Child Bearing No Resemblance To My Son swept in earlier this week, that's how quickly Placid Cheerful Boy seems to have returned to take his place.

Is the change permanent? Of course not. But it's a hell of a lot easier to say that -- and to honestly and cheerfully believe that I'll be able to deal with the changes as they come -- when my child is napping peacefully, that's for damn sure. If the strange, maddening and worrisome behavior of the past week was a phase, it was a blessedly short one. And if that was the real Evan, well, I think I'll just take this not-so-real version, thank you very much.