Oh COME ON NOW.
Cat, carefully writing WASH ME with a paw.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Let it be known I have officially experienced Baby's First Cold, and as milestones go, I must say I far preferred the First Smile, or the First Rollover, or even the First Solid Food By-Product Diaper Surprise.
Riley started sounding snuffly on Sunday afternoon, and by Monday morning his little nose was completely besnotted. It was about 8:25 AM on Monday when he began to voice his complaints over the fact that he was feeling a tad uncomfortable, and thus began the longest 12 hours of my entire life.
I kind of felt like I was in that movie Speed but instead of having to keep a bus driving at over 50 MPH while flaunting my wholesome, girl-next-door good looks, I had to keep a baby moving, always moving, held upright cradled to my chest and ALWAYS MOVING because if the moving stopped, oh if the moving stopped, then...then the crying. The endless, endless crying. The crying that somehow bypassed my ear canals and tunneled holes directly into my brain tissue, the crying that send both Dog and Cat scuttling under the bed for safety, the crying that prompted me to actually call JB's cell phone and ask in a falsely chirpy tone if he was coming home soon because OH JESUS GOD I AM GOING TO DIE HERE.
Riley did take a couple breaks to quaff enormous quantities of formula and baby food, no doubt to keep his energy level high enough to fully enjoy the sight of his mother having a complete nervous breakdown, but he pretty much fussed (and by "fussed", I hope you understand that I mean "made me re-evaluate everything nice I've ever said about parenthood") all day long and into the evening. Whenever he cried it made his nasal situation worse, so we were eternally trapped in this nightmarish perfect storm of snot, and believe me when I tell you that the saline-drops-that-apparently-feel-like-boric-acid/booger-sucker combo did not help one little bit, and in fact seemed to bother him ever so slightly, judging by the fact that he actually sprouted horns at one point and recited some Pantera lyrics.
Right about the time I was seriously deliberating whether or not a largish glort of Nyquil would impede my son's future ability to solve long division problems, and whether I cared (well, he could always use a calculator) he suddenly stopped crying, beamed a series of beatific smiles at us, and fell comfortably asleep. And the heavens opened, yea, and the angels sang ever so sweetly, and I celebrated with an enormous bowl of marshmallow-flavored microwave popcorn.
He seems vastly recovered now, but I hope to avoid all microbes in the future, possibly by sealing him inside a plastic gerbil ball and jettisoning him into space. I'll need to work on that particular plan toot-sweet because thrillingly, JB woke up this morning groaning about how he thinks he has a cold, hack hack. We are all doomed, DOOOOOOMED.
Walking in our neighborhood on the weekend. Dog is smiling.
Pussy willows. Heh. "Pussy."
Crow on a wire.
Mmm, baby feet. Especially tasty when served with a light dusting of powdered sugar.
The Boy, refreshingly booger-free.