Rost got sick this week. And not just a little under the weather—this was full-blown, feverish, clingy, “don’t you dare leave my side” kind of sick. The kind of sick that turns your house into a laundry factory and has you questioning how one tiny human can produce this much vomit.

By ten am, we had officially reached Laundry Mountain status. Pajamas? Changed a dozen times. Favorite blanket? Soaked. Even the couch cushions weren’t safe.

In the midst of the chaos, Rost found deep emotional support in… his chainsaw. Not Rost Cow, not the sttractor pillow—nope. The plastic chainsaw has been with us everywhere. It’s been snuggled, slept with, dragged through the house, and politely placed next to his juice. If you’ve never seen a two-year-old fever-nap while spooning a toy chainsaw, you’re missing out on peak toddler weirdness and charm.

And because we like to live dangerously, we decided that this would be the perfect time to say goodbye to the binky. Why not? We were already in survival mode. So, we swapped it out for a shiny new crane truck and crossed our fingers. Somehow—miraculously—Rost agreed to the trade and hasn’t looked back.

So this week, we’ve been surviving on snuggles, YouTube, laundry cycles, and lots of popsicles. And while it’s been exhausting and messy and loud (so, so loud—thanks to the new crane truck), there’s also something kind of beautiful about it. Because even in the chaos, there’s growth. There’s comfort. And there’s a tiny boy wrapped in blankets and bravery, ready to face the world without a binky… but never without his chainsaw.