On Tuesday, the small one awoke congested, resulting in a rough day in terms of not much appetite and his having a hard time going down for naps, but really nothing more to speak of. No fever. Still a giggly, good natured boy. Still slept through the night. By Thursday, the snot had begun to subside and we were excited to have almost survived the first sickness unscathed.
And then I awoke on Friday morning with a sore throat. And by the time I came home from work, I looked like a certain famous reindeer and I was a big sack of miserable. Saturday proved much of the same and was the first day since the small one’s arrival where I thought “if my mother lived in town, I would so call her right now so I could tag out and go to sleep.” I even contemplated “borrowing” the babe’s bulb syringe (ie booger sucker-outer), but thought better of the notion.
On Sunday morning, while nursing the small one, my husband stood in the doorway and said “so you had a sore throat first, right?” It was official – the whole family was taken down by a single rhinovirus.
Despite the copious amount of tissues, we had a lovely first Mother’s Day. My husband made crepes, we sat in the backyard to enjoy the first rainless day in weeks and I spent all day holding my wonderful baby boy, both of us with matching trails of snot running down our faces.
