...and then the wee one got sick

Funny how life, when it's plodding along just fine, feels the need to smack you upside the head and remind you that you're not invincible, you're not all things, you can't get through everything on your own.  That's just what happened to me last week. Smacked. Big Time.

Hubs has been sick for the better part of three weeks. Admittedly, it's annoying.  Like this, poor baby:

Then Z got sick. He was SICK. I actually can't recall him ever being that sick before- he just sat, like a lump, runny eyes, runny nose, heavy cough. He napped (rejoice!!!!!!). He barely ate (2 freezies and a grape. All day.). It was sad. I bleached and lysoled and took my vitamins and barricaded the baby so as to not expose him.

Then, what I had feared the most happened. My wee W got sick. 5 months old. With a cold to beat all colds. High fever. Lethargic. Runny eyes. Runny nose. A cough so heavy he cringed and winced at even the thought of coughing. I loaded up on tylonel and coffee. Because we were going to hunker down and get through it all.

Then the wheezing started. And the shallow gasps for breath. And the caved in chest. And the look in W's eyes that told me, "something is not ok". I'll fully admit that I was scared. We went to his paediatrician, who sent me straight to the ER. We saw respiratory therapists, paediatricians, ER doctors, had xrays, had consultations, got hooked up to oxygen, almost got hooked up to an IV. Hazmat suits were worn. This wee baby with cords hanging off of him, smiling at every doctor despite his obvious illness, sitting like a lump and only sleeping in my arms. It was certain he was really, really sick.

So we were admitted. They were afraid he would need oxygen and didn't want us rushing back in the middle of the night if his breathing was even more wheezy and shallow. And W and I slept at the hospital. In the same bed (which we've never done) because the cribs they provided were like metal jail cells that creeped the heck out of him (and me). I was woken up to give him puffers every 2-3 hours. He, mercifully, slept through most of the night treatments.

In the morning, we awoke to a dusting of snow and a kicking, smiling, less wheezy, more bouncy baby boy. The doctors had warned me that as quickly as it got bad, it could get good. And that's exactly what ended up happening. He was discharged with puffers (which he hates!!!!!!!) and sent home a new boy. Literally- because somehow he figured out how to sit unassisted and do the army crawl all while we were in the hospital. Go figure.

It's been a scary week. But we're over the hump, I'm happy to say. And my (newly) healthy boys (and husband. FINALLY!) are back to tormenting me on a minute-by-minute basis.