Mad Mama

Excuse me a moment while I irrationally vent about an inevitability of life.

The nugget had his 6-month well visit last Thursday.  All was well!  My chunk weighs 21lbs 2oz and is 27 1/4 inches long.  In case you're wondering, that would be the 94th and 75th percentile, respectively.  Yep, he's still a big 'un. 

He's healthy, happy, and developing right on schedule.  He is also now vaccinated against 3 more diseases.  Visit = success.

Fast forward to Sunday.  My baby is sick, having apparently caught the crud at his well visit.  Grrr.....

I know that this can't be helped.  The office has separate waiting rooms for the sick and well, so they do try and prevent contamination.  But germs are pesky little nuisances, and once you get behind the doors of the waiting room, we all co-mingle with those little bastards.

I get it.  It's a doctor's office.  That's life.

But I'm sad for my little guy.  He's doing an awful lot of coughing, and his nose is all stuffy.  I can hear the congestion rattling around in his chest and throat.  I wish there was a way to teach babies to clear their throats.  But as many times as I say "Ahem!" to Gabe, he just doesn't seem to get it.  (Kidding, of course.)

He's having a rough time sleeping, as I'm sure he's having a rough time breathing.  And there's just not a lot you can do for a baby with a cold!  Other than stay up half the night waiting for him to need you, and sleep fitfully the other half of the night.  Seriously, I dreamed about my sick kid when I did sleep last night.

My poor, sick baby.

Stupid well visit.

Vent over.