I'm emerging from quarantine to report that we are alive. Sickly, but alive. Penny came down with a nasty cold last week and I have since become infected as well. On Wednesday, I could feel the pall of illness enveloping me. We make quite the pair, hacking and coughing, mouth breathing, blowing little snot bubbles from our nostrils. There was a point where I had two humidifiers going in Penny's room, and then had to put one in our room.
I am also trying to beat it without the use of drugs, which has been a challenge. I could call my doctor to ask what is safe for a nursing mother to take, but I'm feeling rebellious. I am downing water like crazy, neti-potting, and using smack-talk to beat this cold.
Meanwhile, being sick has affected Penny's eating. Not that I blame her, but lately, she's only wanted to eat fruit (pureed), crackers, and cheerios. No rice cereal, no vegetables. A couple of nights ago she was too congested to breastfeed, so I had to bust out the bulb syringe and suction her snot in the middle of the night. Surely the booger sucker is the stuff of nightmares, because Penny carried on as though she had been brutally attacked. Now that I think about it, it was pretty mean to do it in the dark, considering how much she hates that thing during the day.
Penny: I'm ok, guys. Mom's not, though.
When I was little, I thought my parents had magical healing powers. Now I know they were just winging it, which is what I've been doing! Which isn't to say that hugs and kisses and comforting words don't have curative powers, it's just that I've come to realize that my repertoire consists mostly of cuddling and hoping for the best. But then, I'm still a rookie.