Plea

I'm not accustomed to being sick for long periods of time, but this one has my butt whipped. Ugh. So much so that I took great pity on myself and booked an appointment with my doctor this morning.

I found some level of amusement in the waiting room at the doctor's office as the people in the chairs around me all looked at little Reagan's RED cheeks and smiled pitifully at her and at me as if to say "Poor little dear". And I was all tempted to let one of my lung ejecting coughs rip and say "Yeah, you thought that was bad!" And honestly, I always SWORE I would not be one of the moms who let their kid be seen with snot dripping from anywhere ever. But seriously, there is no keeping up with this stuff.

I have been diagnosed with bronchitis. No surprise there.

That would be quite bad enough even if little Reagan were well. Alas, she is not and seems to have contracted the nastiness that is inhabiting my esophagus. Poor little girl cannot sleep because she coughs...and coughs...and coughs. When she finally manages to cough herself to sleep, she often wakes up screaming because OUCH HER THROAT HURTS AND WHY WOULD WE DO THIS TO HER, FIX IT IMMEDIATELY, NO I DON'T WANT A DRINK, JUST WAVE YOUR MAGIC WAND AND MAKE IT ALL GO AWAY ALREADY! And as she screams these words in her baby-ese I hold her close and say, "I know! I know how you feel and I know what you are saying and I know how frustrating it is that I can't make you better! Believe me, I'm frustrated I can't even make myself better!" And as these conversations happen in the darkness of her room at 11:00 PM, then again at 1:00 AM, then again at 3:00 AM, I wonder how we are going to make it through all this...as I so often do when I feel sorry for myself.

Anyway, as the doctor listened to Reagan's breathing and observed her extremely sweet (she danced for him, it was hysterical) and charming (she smiled and jabbered while he looked in her ears) and snotty (its everywhere, running down her face, all over her outfit, on my shoulder and my jeans) behavior, he made a proclamation that sort of scared the shtuffing outta me. "I think it might be RSV," he mentions ever so casually. I haven't grown out of my parent-of-a-newborn fear yet and those three little letters, while very popular on Wheel of Fortune, made me go all deer-in-the-headlights on him. He assured me that it was not as serious when it was in a toddler, but only babies that he worries about. This means two things (1) I am no longer considered the parent of a baby, but rather a parent of a toddler and (2) I have no reason to panic, but rest assured that seldom carries any weight in my over-reaction habits.

All that fear...for nothing. Reagan does not have RSV. Reagan has a cold...precisely like her wheezy momma. Her wheezy momma who apologizes to her 1,000 times a day for giving her the cough-that-will-never-leave.

As you can imagine, this leaves Hubby in quite a fix as he sleeps next to Wheezy when Snots is snoring in her crib. When Snots wakes up he has to sleep with her in the chair because Wheezy took Nyquil and there is no waking her up till at least 9:00 AM.

Yes, we not only would appreciate your prayers...we need them.