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 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.