On Saturday, when I was so sick all I wanted to do was moan loudly and pull the covers over my head, I thought I would write a post about how awful it is to be sick when your baby is also sick. (I came down with a virulent cold/sinus infection on Thursday night; Charlie came home from daycare with a cough on Friday afternoon that turned into a fever on Saturday.) But yesterday, awful took on new meaning. We walked CW to the nearest ER because he was having difficulty breathing (rapid breaths using his stomach and chest muscles). The X-ray confirmed that he has pneumonia. They transferred him to the pediatrics unit at St. Luke’s, uptown. He’s got an IV. He’s crib looks like a metal cage. Only one parent could room in and since I am still recovering I was the one who went home to try and rest for the marathon that will most likely be this next week. (My husband deserves a LOT of credit for taking care of two whining sickos on Saturday and taking the first overnight shift at the hospital. He’s wonderful.)

Walking to the bus stop last night in the rain to an empty apartment; sleeping in our bed alone with only my husband’s hoodie and my baby’s blanket to comfort me; worrying and not knowing how thing’s are going, anxious to get out of the house in the morning to see them–these are much, much worse than having a cold while my baby is sick.


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