Eli asks a lot of questions, but tonight he asked a pretty big one.
“Why do I have to do my vest and take medicines,” he asked while I coaxed him into his forest-green plaid jammies. (I love those jammies).
“You have cystic fibrosis,” I said.
“Why do I have cystic fibrosis?”
“It’s just something you were born with,” I said.
“I’m 3,” he said determinedly, as if trying to find something else he knew to be true to contribute to the conversation. “I’m 3.”
I buttoned up his jammies and put my son to bed.