Croup. Crud.

We've been working on sleeping through the night. Bama usually wakes up twice, once before midnight, and then a few hours later. Last night was night three of breaking the habit. I woke up at 3:42am wondering if she was okay. The first night, she'd cried for nearly three hours (I went in periodically). The second night, she cried and fidgeted for about two hours.

She was asleep for a bit longer after I woke up (well into our usual time together), then stirred, whimpered, went back to sleep after about 30 minutes.

At 6:42am, I heard it. The seal's bark that is croup's trademark. We didn't know it the first time Bama had croup, about six weeks ago, when she was misdiagnosed at the pediatrician's office. We walked into Children's Hospital at 4am and the nurse said, "Oh yeah, that's croup."

I sat with her in the bathroom, soaking up steam from the shower. We walked out into the cold morning air (with an extra blanket) because Mama learned a few lessons. She napped for nearly three hours. We ran a couple of errands.

Uh-oh. At Peet's, a woman with a Children's Hospital badge said, "Oh, she doesn't look like she's feeling well." Me: "She has croup."

Woman (in her inside-her-head-voice): what the heck are you doing dragging her around the neighborhood? get that girl to bed!

Me: (Sheepish). I know. We're going right home.

Bad mama needed to get out of the house, at the expense of Bama, but it seems like days go by without seeing a blade of grass or another person. (Today, we skipped the park and a mama-gathering because she is sick.)

She's asleep. I'll be sleeping in her room with her to listen to her breathing. Both the woman at the coffeeshop and I agreed we'd like not to see each other tonight at the hospital.

Croup. Crud.

One thought on “Croup. Crud.

  1. Can I just say that there are days (sometimes two or three of them in a row) when the farthest outside I get is the mailbox. Sad but true. Sometimes it’s just too much to even consider motivating the girls, packing the necessary outing supplies, and getting ourselves out the door. And that’s not even on crappy days or when they are feeling ill! And then there’s Funky B’s professed “pyjama days” when even I am not allowed to consider going out. I hear you.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s