Heartbreaker

Our second son, Book'em, sang before he had words. He would rock and sway and sing out little songs as he sat in the stroller on walks, to put himself to sleep, and often in the car.

He's now six and he still loves to sing. He sings in the van, requesting different styles of music, happily belting out his favourites. We always know where he is and can guess what mood he's in by what he's singing or humming. Our songbird.

Today when I picked the older two up from school, Book'em's voice was raspy. I asked if his throat was sore, but he said it wasn't. Poor guy almost always has inflamed tonsils but the doctors say they don't remove tonsils now in children unless they're completely off the charts infected for months on end. We've asked repeatedly on doctor visits.

His voice grew worse as we strolled from school to the van. I cajoled and he let me take a peek. His tonsils were very swollen and no doubt he was in greater discomfort than normal. He was subdued, humming as we drove to go pick up my husband from work.

My husband, when he took over for the drive home, knows one particular bouncy song the boys and baby girl adore. He switched the CD player over to this tune and Book'Em started to sing. But he croaked.

It's a short drive home, just a few minutes, and as we parked Book'Em was sobbing. As everyone else raced for the front door I opened my arms and he fell into a hug just wailing. I asked if he was in more pain and he said, breaking my heart, "No, but I can't sing! I can't sing! It just sounds like words. Horrible words."

Poor boy. I'm praying the hot lemon and honey and a good night's rest will soothe his poor throat overnight. Because he loves to sing in the morning.