sickie whinge

Well, we're all three in various stages of the dread head cold. And the real revelation, though hardly profound, is that a child's sickness is about 3 million times worse than an adult's sickness, even M's with the perpetual hacking cough. One might think (though one would be wrong) that a sick baby would sleep more, eat more, instinctively turning towards wholsome succor at the breast. Ha! Instead, young Gabriel has reverted to newborn sleep habits, with hourly waking through the night, crying, and general misery. And his stuffy little nose makes eating a frustrating ordeal, crying in hunger, then sadness when latching on makes breathing difficult. Poor little guy! I've grasped the bulb syringe desperately a few times, intent on sucking out the snot I hear rattling around in his head. I've wimped out each time, though. I mean, a med student who loves taking off toenails, suturing ragged wounds and lancing anything with pus should not be at all squeamish about sucking phlegm out of her son's nose. Yet, I hesitate. If the snot were bubbling out of his nose it'd be one thing, but I can't actually see it, just hear it, and I'm unwilling to stick the pointy end that far back in his head. I can just see the headline: medical student "mother" impales infant's pituitary gland in over-eager attempt to remove phlegm. It's just a cold, I remind myself.
My only hope, though a dim one by this point, is that he will recover, some day. And that he will re-establish his old, now longed-for sleeping habits. I remember when we only got up twice a night. Last night he was up 12 times before 4:30, when I woke up M, Gabriel's tears mingling with my own. He obligingly took Gabriel for a drive so that I could get some sleep, a trick we hadn't pulled since week 6. The rejuvenating effect of 2 consecutive hours of sleep interupted only by the phone and the cat pouncing on my head really cannot be overstated.