Respiratory Something Virus

That's what husband and I called it for a few days before we finally looked-up the pronuciation guide online.  Resiratory SIN-SI-SHUL (Syncytial) Virus put my sweet boy threw the ringer. After a week and a half in daycare, Liam got sick. I was prepared for runny noses, but I was NOT prepared for this.

 It started with a small cough on Tuesday morning.  When he got home from daycare, the cough had turned wet (that's the only way I can think to describe it).  When I was burping him that night, and I heard/felt a vibration in his chest.  Knowing better than to mess with the lungs (especially when those longs are 13 weeks old), we decided to take L to the pediatrician the next morning (by we, I mean Husband was on daddy duty that day).  That night he coughed and snotted, coughed and snotted.

Following directions, Husband turned-off his phone while he was with the pediatrician (most of us would have turned our phone to vibrate, I'm just saying). After an hour and a half at the Peds, and after getting a million panicked phone calls and texts from me, Husband finally calls me with the news.  RSV.  To which I said, "Whaaa?" 

The Peds sent us home with a nebulizer and instructions of what to watch-out for.  The next couple days of my life consisted of watching Liam breathe, listening to him breathe, and trying to watch him breathe through our video monitor (which is really hard, by the way).  More often than not, he was wheezing when he breathed.  If we weren't using the nebulizer (which was every four hours when he was awake), we were sucking snot out of his nose.  Liam was remarkably cooperative with the nebulizer.  Each treatment took about 11 minutes.  By minute 9, his attention span would wane and one of us would dangle a toy in front of him or dance around like an idiot to keep him from melting down.  A couple of times, he had a meltdown anyway.  It broke my heart to see him so upset, but I figured he was taking-in extra medicine with all the wailing. Worse than the nebulizer was the snot by day three.  He was SO snotty.  Half the time he couldn't breathe out of his nose unless we used the bulb (my super technical term for it).  After a few days, his nose was so raw that he'd scream when we used it.  It was awful.  If we didn't use it, he couldn't breathe.  If we did use it, he screamed. 



Grammy trying to distract him.

After two nebulizer treatments on Saturday, he was still wheezing (the treatments usually made the wheezing go away).  It also looked like he was working breathe. We called the on-call nurse, who had the on-call doctor call us.  After five minutes of conversation, the doctor said, "I hate to do this to you, but I think you should go to the emergency room."  My heart has never hurt so badly in my life.  We got ourselves pulled-together, and headed to St. Mary's.  I guess they don't mess-around with babies because we didn't have to wait (as in, we never even had a chance to sit down).  After three hours in Peds (they really did call it Peds. I felt like I was inside Grey's Anatomy.  Minus all the sex and drama), lots of smiling and talking to the nurses and doctors, lots of crying because he was super tired by couldn't call asleep, and lots of refusing to eat because he was too tired, Liam was discharged.  We were now doing the nebulizer every two to four hours AROUND THE CLOCK. 


FINALLY fell alseep

I don't know if you've ever heard a nebulizer, but it's loud.  The Peds doc said we could do the night treatments while he was sleeping (just hold it over him face).  Right.  We'd turn-on the machine and Liam would immediately startle awake.  Who needs sleep anyway.
RSV is very contagious, so we obviously had to keep him out of daycare.  I worked from home some, Husband stayed home some, and Liam's Grammy (my mom) watched him some.  Between the three of us, we were able to keep him out of daycare through to Christmas.  And Husband was off the entire week after Christmas. 

By the Thursday before Christmas we were finally noticing some positive changes.  By Sunday we were cutting back the nebulizer treatments.  By the next Thursday his appetite returned (and we actually think he was in a growth spurt - 7 to 8 ounce bottles every time he ate), we didn't need to use the bulb, we weren't using the nebulizer, and we got our amiable kid back.

Throughout this whole ordeal, Liam remained remarkably happy.  It was amazing. Through all the snot, he'd still smile.  After a coughing fit he would immediately start talking.  He'd COUGH, COUGH, COUUUUGH, and go "UUUURGH!!!" in the cutest little 14-week old voice.  I'm so proud of how he handled it.  And I'm proud of how Husband and I handled it.  We leaned on each other, and we survived. 

Let me leave you with this:  Being a parent is NO JOKE.  You start worrying the second you find-out you're pregnant, and it only gets worse after they're born.  But there is nothing like it. 

So glad to have this kid back to normal!

Daycare, Week 1

Sunday night, I was prepared for a sleepless night. I just KNEW my mind would be racing counterclockwise around an oval track (SHOO-WEE!). Much to my surprise, sleep came easily. I suppose I have a three month-old to thank for that. Liam slept for 8 hours straight that night, but woke-up at 4:00 am. My alarm was set for 5:30 am. The whole “wake, change, nurse, back to sleep” process takes roughly an hour, so I was up for the day. First thought, gross. Can’t I just crawl back into bed? No, Betsy, you can’t. Instead, I went about my get ready routine that had been on the shelf for 12 weeks. Shower, make-up, hair. Here’s where it deviates… You have to get dressed last because you’re bound to get baby goo on you. So it went: Pack pump bag. Pack bottles for Liam, fill-out daycare report card. Wake-up baby. Change baby. Dress baby. Kiss, snuggle, love, hug, laugh with, and talk to baby. Feed baby. Dress myself. And get us out the door.
Luckily, I have an amazing husband who will take all my bags out to the car and start it (it’s been COLD here) before he leaves for work (which is about 10 minutes before Liam and I leave). Love him.

Overall, the morning of daycare 1 was uneventful. Husband did the drop-off with me. We moral supported each other. I started to get upset when we were walking to the nursery, but I checked my emotions at the door as best I could. After we said goodbye to him, one of the sweet daycare ladies, Miss Jackie (the ladies who work in the nursery are in the 70s, we’d guess), snatched him up, took him to a glider, and snuggled him to pieces. She knew all we wanted to see was him being loved. She’d obviously done the “first time drop-off” a few times.

My day at work passed rather quickly. I spent my time catching-up on emails and work, and catching-up with people. Much like the end of pregnancy, I was asked the same three questions over and over. This time, though, I didn’t mind. I could talk about that kid ALL DAY LONG. I called daycare twice. Each time settled my anxiety and quieted my racing mind.

Let me tell you – I have NEVER been so excited to go home in my entire life. I was trying to think of a way to describe it. ‘Tis the season, I kept coming back to this: Going home to your baby after being apart all day is like the feeling a five year-old experiences on Christmas Eve night… knowing something magical is about to happen. The anticipation mounts, and I start clock watching. About 30 minutes before I leave, I catch myself smiling every time I think about being home. When I walk to my car, I’m smiling. I’m smiling as I drive. I rush out of my car (smiling, duh!), drop my stuff (literally), and bound up the stairs. When I see that big head my world screeches to a stop (Husband is usually cuddling Liam in the glider, which faces away from the bedroom door). When I drop my face to his level, and say, “Heeeey, buddy,” I was rewarded with the BIGGEST smile. My heart melts, my breath catches in my chest, and my world resets on its axis. It was like I had just crept down the stairs and seen the pile of presents Santa had left for me under our glowing Christmas tree. It was magical. MAGICAL.

Daycare Day 2 and 3 passed much like Day 1, except they were harder. For Day 1, I had just spent all of Sunday with him so we hadn’t really been apart. By Day 3, I was sad. I was lonely. I missed him so much it felt like little pieces of my heart were crumbling. But again, each time I arrived home I was rewarded with a smile that reset me to “happy.”

Each morning, Liam has woken-up happy as can be and TALK-A-TIVE. He’s so tired when he gets home from daycare (he’s adjusting to sleeping through all the commotion – and by adjusting I mean not sleeping much at all) that he usually nurses and then falls asleep in our arms. He’ll wake-up anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours later, MAYBE stay up for a little while, nurse, and the he’s down for the night. Since we don’t get to catch-up at night, in the morning he wants to tell me ALL about his day. Here I am trying to nurse him, and he keeps rolling onto his back and talking my ear off. It would be completely frustrating if it wasn’t SO FLIPPING CUTE. So we just talk. He tells me about his day, the cute girl who shares his birthday, Miss Jackie and Miss Lois. I tell him how much I love him, how much I’ve missed him, and that I’m proud of how well he’s doing. I live for those moments. I used to get them all day every day. Now that I don’t, I savor them. I roll them around slowly inside my heart, each one leaving a permanent mark so I can reach down and munch on it when I’m missing him the most.

Someone at work asked me “how it was.” I assumed he meant how it was going being apart from Liam. When I began to tell him, he said, “No. How is it being a parent?” All I could do was smile. He said, “There aren’t words, are there? It’s magical. And you can’t grasp it until you feel it yourself.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

And I officially live for the weekends now.


So you (we) can get your fix: