We had been lucky. For six months, the worst Maeve had ever gotten in the way of illness was a tiny little cold at age 5 weeks. She snuffled a little and sounded very pathetic, and that was about it.
We had just a lovely weekend, got our family photos taken by a very good friend, and spent the afternoon at their house for their daughter's birthday party. Maeve was very well behaved, and really enjoyed herself, then slept all the way home. We were thrilled.
She woke up about an hour after I put her to bed, snorting and snuffling and generally not being able to breathe very well, which caused instant screaming and panic on her part. Which of course was exacerbated by us shoving a little booger sucker up her nose to try and help her breathe again.
Can I just say that I really, really hate that everything we can do to help Maeve feel better when she's sick makes her scream bloody murder? It makes it ridiculously difficult to do anything to help her, because you always feel like you're just making it worse. The only non-intrusive things we can do are run the humidifier and baby her as much as possible. Everything else seems like a fate worse than death.
Anyway, she was snuffly but mostly fine yesterday, so we took her briefly to a few friends' houses and to her grandparents' for a quick trick-or-treat. After all, it seemed a shame to waste such a cute flower costume! She did just great for the first two visits, then completely fell apart at Grandma and Grandpa's, just uncontrollable crying, which escalating into the worst screaming-cry the entire 45 minute drive home, despite her father's best efforts at comforting her and all my lullabies and shushing.
Maybe I've said so before, but I'd rather have a root canal than listen to that terrible, helpless, terrified cry of hers and not be able to do anything, like being stuck in the front seat of a car. She was miserable. I had left the booger sucker at home because I thought she was going to be fine. Famous last words.
It was a glorious weekend, it was a death-defyingly tiring and difficult weekend. In other words, just another average holiday weekend for Maeve and her sometimes-clueless Momma and Daddy.
|Baby Maeve, the little flower|