I woke last night to the sound of my baby gasping for air. Its a terrifying sound that makes you jump up from bed and go from deep sleep to wide awake in a second. As I picked her up, she coughed her way to finding air again, and I listened as the off rhythm of her breathing came through a stuffy nose. Baby's first cold.
I sucked the yuckiness out of her nose till I could hear her breathing smoothly again. And once I knew she was ok, the sleepiness came back as quickly as it had left and I stumbled around, trying to get her to fall back asleep. Its times like these I so desperately want her to nurse. I started to warm some milk as a back up for when the frustrated screaming started, got cozy with the little peanut in the recliner, and watched in amazement as she took to nursing as if it was the only thing she knew. It may have been a fluke, but it was a sweet moment with my baby. Fiona was back to her smiling self this morning, but it was that punch-drunk smile. The one that is acommpanied by swollen eyes and a red nose that doesn't quiet allow a full smile. I dreadingly got ready for work as my boys begged "Mommy, not go any where" and Fiona smiled at me, her droopy eyes following my every move. And it wouldn't have been so hard if I knew that I was going to have a productive day at work, but I am not. So, I sit here, picturing my family going through the normal morning routine- breakfast, kissing Fi a million times, running and jumping and begging to watch morning shows. Taking a personal day is sounding good about now. So is the beach.