I am beginning to wonder if Greg has found a way to inflict chemical warfare us, because the boys and I keep passing our coughs and snotty noses around, and miraculously, Daddy doesn’t get hit. I never took him for a chemist (other than he makes a mean Screwdriver), but you’ve heard the stories of people who are married for a million years and didn’t know that their spouse was wearing ladies underwear and frequenting S and M bars. So, maybe he’s been concocting some crazy upper-respiratory attacker on one of his lengthy visits to the “throne”. He takes his tablet with him, so I imagine he could google the ingredients.
All kidding, aside, my oldest is snotty and phlegmy as usual, but the youngest sounded like he was drowning last night, as he slept in my bed and Daddy slept in his. It’s funny, though, Pierce is pretty okay from an energy and attitude perspective during his waking hours. It just as soon as he is supine that the coughing begins, thankfully he doesn’t throw up.
So, I took him to the doctor to make sure he was going to make it, and they sent us home with a nebulizer and liquid medicine. Let the wrestling match begin. Three times a day I have to put a miniature gas mask over a very cooperative little boy’s mug—and by very cooperative, I mean totally uncooperative—for 10 minutes in hopes that the steroid he inhales will diminish the coughing. Auntie Good Times told me I better take him into the closet to administer this therapy so that the neighbors don’t hear him screaming. Just what I need is the cops arriving to investigate the torture of a small tot—I’m guessing that they wouldn’t believe that I was the one actually being tortured by the screams even if they saw the blood running from my ears.
I actually don’t even know what I am doing sitting here writing this, I have smelly little boys to bathe and breathing treatments to administer, and quite possibly another long night ahead…so this is it for today, but on a good note, I get Pearl the Girl back tomorrow (my car) and I can’t wait!