Butter has been sick. Third ear infection in ten weeks, third cold in nine weeks. Not miserable, but a bit drippy and sad at night. More than reasonable, I think, for being the unwitting victim of preschool scourges without the benefit of preschool play. Peanut was ten months old when he got his first cold. This little dude was four months. Robbed.
So last night was particularly heartbreaking, given how long he’s felt out of sorts. Most night he either sleeps horribly or really well considering his age. On healthy, easy nights he sleeps almost six hours, nurses, then wakes every two hours to nurse. On sick nights he wakes as often as every hour for one of several comfort measures, only one of which he can handle himself.
Last night, with the ear infection brewing and the cold ramping up, he woke about every two hours, but before I could even get to him he was slurping on his thumb and falling back asleep. So I didn’t actually see him or pick him up for more than ei ghthours. And I woke at 4am, Spidey Senses tingling, wondering why he hadn’t cried or nursed yet. Peanut had awakened me in the wee hours but when I went in to answer his cries for Mommy, he wouldn’t say anything. So I went back to bed.
Went into the boys’ room at 4am and peered into the crib. Wide awake baby smiled at me. I reached down to pat him and felt him soaking wet and freezing cold.
He had puked all over himself some time in the night. Most likely gagged on the stuff clogging up his tiny ears and tiny nose. Probably hours before, when Peanut called for me and couldn’t articulate what the problem was.
Nice parenting. Didn’t even check on the sick baby except to listen to his breathing from the door all night while he lay cold and wet in a pool of his own vomit.
Makes me wonder how miserable he is the times he does cry. And reminds me why I’ll never let him cry. And makes me rethink the decision to stop co-sleeping.
Still, waking on my own to find a cold and wet baby who smells like puke is its own reward.