You're Sick, I'm Sick, & the Tooth Has Come In!

Dearest Sammie Girl,

I’b wriding like thisd because you got me thick with your code. Thanksd for that. Seriously, whatever immunity from all air-borne illnesses you had for the first eight months of life must be long gone because you’re currently recovering from your third cold in the past six weeks.

I blame the tables.

Whenever we go out to eat, you get so excited about the mere prospect of food that as soon as we sit you down in your high chair, you feel the need to lean forward and “eat” the table. Every. Single. Time.

We’ve tried using the yellow-rubber-hippo-thing-that-Nonni-bought-you-for-Christmas, but the YRHTTNBYFC is made out of rubber. Rubber is awesome for preventing the Cheerios from meeting their destiny with the floor, but it’s also not-so-awesome in that it attracts every little piece of dust and lint and (gag) hair. As soon as I clean it, the YRHTTNBYFC gets dirty seconds later and I kind of have a fear of rubber mats with stands of hair on it so needless to say, we don’t use the YRHTTNBYFC very often.

Which is why we’ve been going mat-less in restaurants and you’ve been salivating over each table that we put you in front of. Sadly, we’ve been eating out more than usual lately because I’ve been rather tired/lazy and would rather dial/order than cook/clean each night after teaching. So, needless to say, we’ve been using a lot of the gift cards we got for Christmas these past few weeks…and you’ve been eating a lot of germ-ridden tables.

I thought we were staying ahead of the game by using sanitizing hand wipes on the table before plopping you down, but I guess we weren’t fooling the germs because you still managed to get sick.

Knowing misery loves company, you decided to share your cold with me. Thanks for that. Really—I thank you.

Fortunately, I know how to blow my nose and cover my mouth when I sneeze and cough. Unfortunately, you do not yet possess the knowledge or capacity to use a Kleenex and blow, which is why I’ve spent since Saturday chasing you down with saline spray, a booger-getter-outter-suction-bulb-thing, and either a Kleenex, washcloth, dishrag, onesie …frankly, whatever is available works fine—apparently I’m not as picky about where I put your snot as I am about hairy rubber mats.

In between suctions, you happily/miserably sucked on your bottle, with a deathgrip on your scrap of mommy's robe:


This past cold definitely has been worse than other ones. The cough that’s accompanied it is enough to make me tear up each time because you’re working so hard to free up the gunk in your lungs.

(Side Note: I’m avoiding the use of the word “phlegm” here because your Poppa HATES that word and it sends him into convulsions. I’m trying to be considerate should he ever read these entries—and I doubt he will because Facebook is just about all of the modern web stuff he can do. That said, by the time you’re old enough to read this, I think it’s perfectly acceptable for you to stop whatever you’re doing to call him up and scream “PHLEEEEEEEEEGGGGGMMMMMMMMMM!!!” in his ears. Because your momma has a sick and twisted sense of humor like that).

Right…back to the horrid cough. You were so congested and coughing so often that you started wheezing a little…which got me worried, so I did what I’d been avoiding for the past nine and a half months: I called up the pediatrician’s office and made a sick child appointment.

I’ve been so determined NOT to be one of those mothers that calls their pediatrician at every little sniffle. So…this was really your second “sick baby” appointment ever (the first was this last summer when you were a newborn and your little umbilical cord looked like it might be slightly infected—it wasn’t and your belly button as I’m sure you know by now is just fine). The office of STBPITW handled the visit beautifully, and we were in and out of there in fifteen minutes flat. The verdict? You have a cold, but it’s nothing that I should be concerned about because it’s not affecting your lungs. I should keep doing what I’m doing, which is basically chasing you around the house with that snot-booger-bulb thing.

Whew.

While we were at the doctor’s office, STBPITW looked in your mouth and noticed that your two front teeth are closer than they’ve ever been to breaking through. She also saw that the two teeth on the bottom sides of your mouth are going to be making their appearance quickly, as well.

STBPITW couldn’t have been more on the money because I felt your gums a few hours later…I’ll admit, it’s fast becoming a daily ritual/obsession to check your mouth for teeth because you’re getting them sooo late compared to the other babies we know… Oh. My. Gosh. Did I really just type that? How keeping-up-with-the-Baby-Joneses-was-that? *shudder*

Ramblings aside, because as of March 9, you have a TOOTH! I can’t yet see it, but I can feel it. It’s sharp and protruding through your gums. I called your daddy inside to have him feel your gums, and he felt it, too, so I know it wasn’t a psychosomatic tooth that I was feeling. Woo hoo!

I spent the rest of the evening taking pictures of your mouth, knowing that they are the last shots I’ll ever get of a completely gummy-smiled baby. Trouble was, you weren’t so smiley that night (I can’t really blame you, what with the obsessive mother, horrid cold and sharp bits of teeth ripping through your gums). All I got were pictures of you screaming.




The results were a bit of a dejavu from when you were a newborn…



At least you’re consistent!

All my love, my little tooth girl!
-your mommy

PS. Next time you get sick, feel free to NOT give it to me. Really.