My son Henry turns 10 months old in a few days. For the first few weeks while the coronavirus was spreading across the country, the fact that he and his brother, Thomas, are so young (Thomas is 3) was a source of some solace. The available data, after all, suggested that the effects of the virus were most serious for older people. My sisters and I were worried about our parents, but I wasn’t worried about my sons.On Friday night, Henry developed a fever. It wasn’t anything exceptional, just shy of 102 degrees. When Thomas got a similar fever when he was about a year old, my wife and I took him to the hospital, where they very quickly deduced that Thomas was our first child. This was Henry’s first fever, and this time, we knew how to deal with it.To an extent. While Henry’s temperature wasn’t exceptional, it came at an exceptional time.Our first thought, of course, was that the plague had seeped through the walls of our house. That it had Trojan-horsed on a piece of mail or on a delivery or that one of us had been unduly lax on one of the rare occasions this month


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