The first time Jack got sick, my husband and I were beside ourselves. A stuffy nose! A pathetic little cough! Our BABY! At the time we were in that miserable spot where you think you are going to die if they don't start sleeping through the night soon, but we put all sleep training ideas on hold while we rocked our poor little guy back to sleep five or six times during the night. Phillip even stayed home from work one day, so Jack could have twice the babying.
Over the last three weeks our family has been suffering through an End of Winter Plague. First I came down with a minor cough, then my husband took my sniffles and blew them all out of proportion, then he gave it BACK to me. The whole time we've been staring wondrously at our child, congratulating ourselves on keeping him safe from our germy hacking.
Until two days ago when my normally cheery, smiley baby morphed into Whiny Demanding Baby With Severe Facial Leakage. And here I was thinking that little cough was just another of those annoying things he learned how to do and wants to "practice" all the time. Oops.
This time, however, I am a Jaded Mom. My biggest concern was whether he was going to take his naps and sleep all night. That little cough? The sniffing? No big deal. We'd fill him up with Tylenol and stick it out for the next couple of days.
The grandparents, who happened to be visiting that afternoon, were not impressed. "I've never seen him like this before!" my father-in-law worried. To make them feel better I went to stock up on Tylenol at the drugstore. And good thing I called my pharmacist friend to ask her about the dosage because it turns out you probably shouldn't give Children's Tylenol to a 10-month-old.
Now that they were sufficiently worried about their daughter-in-law's competency in the childcare department, the grandparents fled to the nearest Target for a battery of cold-fighting drugs, complete with explicit instructions from the pharmacist.
It just wasn't as big a deal this time around. The second cold is not as terrifying as the first cold, even if the symptoms are worse. My heart didn't even break too much when Phillip used an Instrument of Torture, I mean the snot-sucking bulb syringe, and Jack spent the next fifteen minutes howling at the indignity. I did get up at four in the morning to rock him back to sleep, and while I wasn't cursing the gods of sleep for the interruption, I wasn't awake enough to properly snuggle him. Phillip didn't even mention staying home this time.
The grandparents called last night to make sure we were dosing their grandson appropriately and remembering to turn the humidifier on at night. Yes and yes. And he seems to be doing better today. Not as drippy. I do believe we may have survived the Second Cold, even if Phillip and I are digging the cough drops out of the medicine cabinet again and accusing each other of using up the last of the Robitussin. Is it ever going to go away?