When Our Baby Spiked A High Fever, My Husband Called His Overprotective Mother Before Anyone Else

Ethan took the syringe from my fingers, holding it up to the lamp to study the tiny raised numbers on the plastic barrel.

“Five milliliters every eight hours.”

“If she spits any of it out onto her chin, you don’t give her another full dose,” I said, pointing to the grid lines in the logbook.

“You write down roughly how much she swallowed, and you call the pediatric triage line if her fever goes above 102.”

He picked up the black ballpoint pen lying on the table and pulled off the cap with a small plastic click.

“Her next dose is at exactly eight o’clock,” I said.