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Dec. 9th, 2005 10:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaThe worst thing about getting a cold when you're the mother of an infant is that you know you'll suffer twice - once when you yourself are sick, and then again when the baby catches it.
We are all three of us sick. Michael had it first, then me; Alex is on her third miserable night. During the day she seems fine - she's coughing, sure, and her nose is running, but she laughs and plays and crawls all over the place pointing out new venues for childproofing.
The nights are something else.
She's been in bed for three hours, and I've had to go in to her five or six times. A couple of times she's been soothable with a pacifier and some gentle patting, but mostly I have to pick her up and rock her back to sleep while she whimpers and tries to catch her breath through clogged nostrils. I just did something unspeakable with a bottle of spray saline and a bulb syringe, which accomplished nothing but a long bout of hysterical, back-arched screaming. If she puts me in a substandard nursing home when I'm eighty, it will be because she remembers the bulb syringe.
Last night I slept with her. When we first moved her into my bed, at bedtime, she slept for three hours more-or-less straight. I didn't, because I kept alerting to her every twitch, trying to soothe her to stay sleep before she really woke up, but I can sort of sleepwalk through that kind of thing and still feel moderately rested. But the rest of the night was less successful. She was restless. She woke a lot and cried a lot, in ways that required my full alertness.
We've elevated the head of her bed to help her breathe, and we try to encourage her to sleep on her side for the same reason. There's a vaporizer moistening the room air and a heater to keep the vaporizer from giving her a chill. She's medicated with Tylenol for the raw throat which Michael and I are sure she has, given how our throats felt a couple of days ago, except for the intervals in which she comes off the Tylenol so I can see if she has a fever. She's too young for cough medicines or decongestants. We're doing everything we can.
It's a cold, and nothing serious. Her doctor told us to expect six or eight colds to hit her inexperienced immune system this winter.
If I were breastfeeding, she would already be getting my antibodies to this virus. If I were breastfeeding, she wouldn't have been laid as low by the stomach virus she had at Thanksgiving - she could have nursed through it, and we wouldn't have had to deal with the temporary formula intolerance. I wonder if not-breastfeeding guilt is ever going to stop stabbing me in the gut at random intervals.
We are all three of us sick. Michael had it first, then me; Alex is on her third miserable night. During the day she seems fine - she's coughing, sure, and her nose is running, but she laughs and plays and crawls all over the place pointing out new venues for childproofing.
The nights are something else.
She's been in bed for three hours, and I've had to go in to her five or six times. A couple of times she's been soothable with a pacifier and some gentle patting, but mostly I have to pick her up and rock her back to sleep while she whimpers and tries to catch her breath through clogged nostrils. I just did something unspeakable with a bottle of spray saline and a bulb syringe, which accomplished nothing but a long bout of hysterical, back-arched screaming. If she puts me in a substandard nursing home when I'm eighty, it will be because she remembers the bulb syringe.
Last night I slept with her. When we first moved her into my bed, at bedtime, she slept for three hours more-or-less straight. I didn't, because I kept alerting to her every twitch, trying to soothe her to stay sleep before she really woke up, but I can sort of sleepwalk through that kind of thing and still feel moderately rested. But the rest of the night was less successful. She was restless. She woke a lot and cried a lot, in ways that required my full alertness.
We've elevated the head of her bed to help her breathe, and we try to encourage her to sleep on her side for the same reason. There's a vaporizer moistening the room air and a heater to keep the vaporizer from giving her a chill. She's medicated with Tylenol for the raw throat which Michael and I are sure she has, given how our throats felt a couple of days ago, except for the intervals in which she comes off the Tylenol so I can see if she has a fever. She's too young for cough medicines or decongestants. We're doing everything we can.
It's a cold, and nothing serious. Her doctor told us to expect six or eight colds to hit her inexperienced immune system this winter.
If I were breastfeeding, she would already be getting my antibodies to this virus. If I were breastfeeding, she wouldn't have been laid as low by the stomach virus she had at Thanksgiving - she could have nursed through it, and we wouldn't have had to deal with the temporary formula intolerance. I wonder if not-breastfeeding guilt is ever going to stop stabbing me in the gut at random intervals.
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no subject
Date: 2005-12-10 09:17 pm (UTC)Probably about the same time as I stop feeling wretchedly guilty for letting Henry cry for 20 minutes the other night without going to him.
We all do what we have to do as parents if it's the best thing for our kids, even if it hurts us to the very core.
(no flames please from anybody on this, we'd tried everything else possible.)