Q: It's 3 am. Do you know where Danna is?
[Image: the "nebulizer" treatment]
A: Trying desperately to get Baxter (aka: bubble-boy... so inappropriate, but I won't tell him I call him that if you won't) to stop his persistent coughing fits. The boy has bronchitis and he has spasms of coughing that never end.
Since 2:15 I have been in there trying different things ranging in their ratings on the "freaking crazy idea scale":
Sippy cup of juice
Sippy cup of Coca cola (suggestion from Mimi)
Prop him up a bit on his pillow to be more upright.
Full round (10 minutes) of albuterol treatment through the nebulizer (aka: breathing machine)
Still coughing - so then mama starts to turn crazy...
I remove the throw rug from his room silently so he doesn't see.
I remove all the stuffed animals from his room (maybe they're dusty)
I vaccuum his entire room (again - it's now like 2:45)
Again I try the coca cola.
Not exactly sure where to go from here.
I panic that when he's NOT coughing he's actually in there turning blue or something.
Friends have heard me say this... but I've never written it. In terms of long-term issues for Baxter, more than I actually worry about his health, I worry about the social implications of his situation.
The kid is severely allergic to eggs and peanuts. This means no baked goods: no cookies, no cupcakes and no birthday cakes at school. It means no sharing or exchanging lunches. It often means no impromptu ice cream cones.
He's also - apparently - Mr. Asthma. Which - when I had asthma as a kid meant (or at least I advantageously turned it into - at the ripe young age of 8) ... no running sports and sitting on the side lines at field day instead of playing.
And... ok folks - let's say it: No Daddy. Or perhaps weirder, he has a daddy... but no one's ever seen him cause apparently he "lives on the moon." Now this I could really see posing a problem when Bax is like 13 or so. I'm assuming, giving his penchant for inquiry, that this lil "moon" story might only last another year or so tops... then I figure my shit out anew.
Point being -- yes, I want Baxter to be himself. I want him to be bright and quirky and funny and unique... but I don't want him to be weird.
Being weird = childhood scars.
... Hey!... I think he finally stopped coughing. Let me go check...
Finally peacefully asleep. In his newly vacuumed, stuffed animal-free bedroom.
Go ahead... say it. I'm a f*cking lunatic.
Good night, friends -- or shall I say good morning?