At ten o’clock, he had written her temperature as 100.8 degrees and noted a wet diaper.

At eleven-fifteen, he had recorded the full oral dose of antibiotics given without any spitting up.

At noon, her temperature was 100.2 degrees.

Below that, he had drawn a small box showing she drank sixty milliliters of formula and stayed upright for twenty minutes afterward.

“Did she cry when you gave her the medicine?” I asked.

“A little,” Ethan said.

“I held her on my shoulder until she calmed down, then I checked her ear twice to make sure the reading was right.”