Cough, Cough

She may not feel so well, but nothing gets in the way of this little girl's appetite.

I knew this day would come--the day that my baby was sick and there I am, totally ill-equipped to deal with her. No medical degree. No other children to compare her to. Nothing but instinct and the incredible ability to worry.

At feeding time—which is usually a quiet time for Charlotte and me to bond, rock, and cuddle—we experienced an utter fiasco. She was frantic and weird and unbelievably cranky. Chris gave her a follow-up bottle after I nursed her in case she was still hungry, and she did eat a couple extra ounces, but lordy. She screamed and screamed. When I flew up the stairs to micromanage the situation, Chris had a desperate look on his face. “What do I do?” he asked. “Nothing will make her happy!”

“Put her down,” I suggested. “Her diaper is dry and she has a full tummy. There’s nothing else to do.” Chris put her in the crib, and after a several minutes of heartbreaking screaming and crying, the child fell asleep.

The next morning, Charlotte woke up with a nasty cough. This made us nervous, but she didn’t seem to have a fever. After she nursed, my baby girl just sort of laid her head on my shoulder—very un-Charlotte-like. Usually, my girl is super wiggly after her breakfast, anxious to get the day started.

Still, Charlotte was all smiles and un-fussy—but man, that cough. I hated the sound of it, but we had to get the day going. We loaded up the car and took off to day care and work, and after about 10 minutes of driving, Charlotte had a particularly nasty coughing fit, and she started to choke on her phlegm and seemed unable to breathe. We panicked.

Chris immediately pulled over and I was out the car before it had come to a complete stop. By the time I reached Charlotte in the backseat, she had dislodged whatever clogged her throat and greeted me with a big smile. Of course, emotional wimp that I am, I burst into tears due to the 10-second roller coaster of sheer terror followed by sheer relief. I debated dropping Chris off at work and then bringing Charlotte with me into the office, but I also didn’t want to overreact. I mean, my girl was still all smiles. No fussing.

Finally, we decided to go ahead a drop her off at day care. I informed the staff of her cough and asked them to call me if it got worse. At work, I worried, worried, worried. After about an hour, I called Charlotte’s teacher and learned my girl was having trouble napping because her cough kept waking her up. Since I was fishing around for an excuse to go get her, this was enough for me. I told the teacher we’d pick her up.

“She’s never not been well before,” I explained. “I’m just nervous and I want to take her to the doctor.”

“Yeah, it’s probably worth having the pediatrician take a look at her,” her teacher agreed. I hung up and immediately called the pediatrician, making an appointment for that day.

Because Chris had the car, he had the duty of picking up our offspring. By the time he got there, poor Charlotte was throwing up her morning bottle. Great. He then dropped her off at my office and I dimmed the lights and rocked her, accomplishing nothing work-related, until it was time to go the doctor.

The pediatrician examined Charlotte and declared a respiratory infection/virus. He said that when she choked while coughing to not panic—she’ll eventually swallow the blockage and air will freely flow again. Do you know what it’s like to stare at your baby while she struggles for air, praying that she coordinates a swallow before turning blue? It probably lasts 1 to 2 seconds, but it feels like hours. It’s absolutely terrifying. It happened again when I was home with her and I just kept thinking, The doctor said she'll swallow. The doctor said she'll swallow. The doctor said she'll swallow. Sure enough, she did.

I kept her home the next day, catering to her every need, whim, and desire. By the end of the weekend, Charlotte’s cough was gone (hooray!) and she was back to her bubbly little self. She kicked the bug faster than the pediatrician predicted (that’s my girl!), and my relief is immense. All in all, this kid of mine had a cold. That’s it. A cold. I’m glad her first brush with illness was minor, and I feel a little more prepared to handle the next time she gets sick, especially if it’s more serious. I don’t have a clue how mothers of truly sick children cope. All I wanted to do was make Charlotte feel better—and she only had a cold.

I didn’t want to overreact, but you know what? My girl is a mere 4 months old. To me, it seems wiser to overreact than underreact.