The cool mist humidifiers are working overtime, and still Molly wakes up with pinkish-rubber-snot-plugged nostrils. Poor baby. Tom asked me why she’s still sick when she gets all the breastfeeding, and I’ve gotten good at making her think she wants the bubble-gum flavored antibiotics. The trick is to let her play with the dropper, do the airplane thing to offer it, pretend to withhold it, and go slow, giving her all the time in the world to make “are you kidding me?” faces and roll the funny pink stuff on her tongue from cheek to cheek.
She’s got walking (rolling?) pneumonia, and her voice is hoarse with it even as she kicks her legs in perfect swimmer’s frog kick form and smiles her exaggerated clown smile, ducking her head down and to the side when the weight of reciprocating my manic “hey baby”s is too much.
Today she is six months old, and right in the middle of cheering on her latest trick I remembered that growing up is the last thing I want to encourage. It was when I watched this movie back closely last week that I realized her breathing sounded too deliberate, and her smiles too hard won. I’m so grateful for her usual healthiness. Let it come back soon.
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I hope she feels better soon. I hate when they get sick and are too young to understand why you aren’t fixing their discomfort.
Oh I love the video and how I love that age! She is precious!
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Yay!
I can comment on your blog again. And tell that baby to STOP growing. And I hope she feels better soon.