It finally happened. The thing I've been trying to avoid for 11 months.
My baby is sick.
It started Wednesday night with a fever over 102 degrees, (which makes a new mom freak), and continued into the weekend. My arm and hip ached from holding him all day, and we lived on fast food for a week because I couldn't put him down to cook.
My doctor said to keep an eye on him and watch his fever. Ever the drama queen, I took his temperature, shot saline solution up his nose, and called my mom every 2 hours. I might have over-used my calling privileges to the nurse at my doctor's office as well. When I brought him in today, she immediately recognized my voice and knew why I was there. I'm not even embarrassed.
It hit me, sometime between tearing through Target looking for the perfect vaporizer and trying to figure out a way to sleep in his room that I am, oh crap, the mom now.
My friend Carolyn read my thoughts when she said, "you're wondering what you did wrong." Yes, exactly. How could he get sick when I've done everything the books, doctors and mommies told me?
The answer didn't come to me until Dr. B. took one look at my panicked face and said, "Sara, you can't keep him in a bubble." She's right, and I'm going to struggle with that until my son looks at me, one day, and tells me the same thing his daddy does:
"Leave me alone, I'm a man and I have the constitution of an ox."
Thank goodness, my poor, 'ol heart can't take much more of this.