Mother of the Year 2011 Front Runner
Last night, my son woke me up from a drooling, sweaty sleep (hawt, I know) to tell me that he was having trouble breathing. It was 2:30 am.
I grabbed an inhaler and gave him a couple of squirts, and then made him some sort of hippy tea that is supposed to aid breathing, and then I gave him a pain reliever because his head hurt from all the coughing, and then I gave him a benedryl because he was congested and his throat was itchy and then I rubbed on some of that vapor rub stuff and tucked him into my husband's side of the bed for the rest of the night.
Because this stuff always goes down on a single-parenting week.
At 4:30, I finally stopped agonizing over every breath and dropped back into a flailing sleep. At 6:00, my husband's iPod alarm went off in the kitchen. It made the cricket noise for 30 minutes before giving up.
At 7:00, I hauled the kids out of bed, pumped the boy full of albuterol again, and called the doctor's office for an appointment.
After dropping the girls off at their respective schools, I took the boy to the doctor.
"How long has he been coughing?"
"Um, off and on all winter?"
"Did you start the inhalers at the first sign of a cold?"
"Oh, well, um, I was traveling and I think my husband did, but maybe not?"
So, yeah. Amoxicillian, for the next 12 days. Steroids for the next 5 days. Inhalers and other inhalers. I brought it all home in a grocery sack-sized bag.
The doctor scolded me for not bringing him in sooner. I was making these but... but... but... noises and gesturing vaguely at my purse, as if that held the answers to why it took me three weeks to haul my son's coughing hiney into the office.
I mean, okay. The whole family had the cold, it sucked, and for the most part, we're over it. He's really not, though, and while he can be rather stoic about it, he could have ended up with pneumonia if I waited a few more days. I put on my "horrified mother" expression for the doctor's benefit, but the smart-aleck part of my brain was like - AND THAT IS WHY WE ARE HERE NOW.
Anyway, he's fine, or he will be. But I've got a new marching order for this one kid of mine should a cold strike in the future. And while the doctor didn't exactly point to fingers at his own eyes and then jab them at mine, I'm on his watch list for Mothers Who Don't Take This Stuff Seriously Enough.
On another note, I'm going to bed at 8 pm.