Sunday morning started off like every other morning (just by that sentence alone you can already tell things are going to go south sooner or later). As I was getting out of the shower, my wife came rushing in with my 4-year-old in her arms and repeating his name over and over and saying something is wrong. I looked down at my son and was shocked at what I saw. The little boy in my wife's arms was not the same little boy that was dancing like a maniac the night before in the kitchen to the Beatles while I washed dishes. This little boy was not him.
