Call It What You Want...

Mark celebrated his fifth-month birthday by getting his first full-blown cold. A "productive" cough was accompanied by the requisite stuffed nose. While he used to tolerate the nose syringe when he could see it coming, it has now become one of his chief adversaries, along with its cohort, the cough medicine dosing syringe. So much does he despise these characters that he tried to reject his friend the Tylenol doser. It took some convincing, but the Tylenol is back -- sort of -- on his list of friends.

I think about how miserable I am when I am sick -- which I'm working on right now as well -- and wish I could make it better for my little guy. I hate for him to have to cough and cough and not be able to understand that those coughs will do good. And I really feel bad that he can't appreciate the good work the bulb syringe is doing for that pesky snuffly nose. I feel triumphant when, well, when it's successful. But he doesn't seem to share the joy. Instead he cries, which makes him cough more and makes his nose fill up again. "Swallow the medicine," I want to tell him. "It'll make you stop coughing so much, and it'll make your nose feel better."

"While you're at it, Little Boy," I have to add, "How about letting yourself fall asleep and enjoying that nap you need so much? It, too, will make you feel better, and I promise there will be no amazing things that you miss while your little red-rimmed eyes are closed."

We visited his friend the doctor yesterday, and she reported that, yes, indeed, he has a cold, but that we're doing all the right things. He played with her and talked to her and acted all happy to see her. If nothing else, he's a charmer. There were several other sick babies hanging around the waiting room, too, so I know that we are not alone in working on this cold. And I know he'll be back to the "Happy Baby" soon.