We've had a little cold around here.
And when I say "we" I mean Conor and when I say "little" I mean he is not as big as we are.
He really has not been acting sick at all except when he tries to go to sleep and subsequently tries to nurse with about as much success as sucking mud through a straw. (I use that expression because that's what his nose sounds like) And we've unfortunately trained him to get excited and jump up and down when we mention "medicine" in the form of Robitussin Infant cough and cold. I don't think it's the "medicine" as much as it is the fact that it's one of the sweetest things we let him eat.
So the sleep, it is not good. He takes forever to go to sleep. Wakes up around 11:30 (which I swear to God(dess) feels like 6 am to me) and quickly goes back to sleep but then wakes up again between 4:30 and 5:30.
We keep thinking we've passsed over the hump. Really, we only think that because I'm pathetically optimistic and I always think things are going to get better.
But last night was sort of better: Conor woke up at4:30 because of a nightmare and not because of a cough.
So, yeah, that's not objectively better and actually quite worse for him. It was so sad--he was grabbing onto my neck and sobbing on my shoulder and it took me a while to calm him down enough to even nurse. Fortunately, he went right back to sleep (and slept until 7:15!), but he was right pitiful, as we'd say down here.
And somewhere in this process (with either him or Simba between us in the early morning), I have tweaked my back and it feels like someone is stabbing my shoulder with a rusty serving fork. I don't like that one bit either.
But I'm not in too cranky of a mood. It's one of the outcomes of being perpetually optimistic. Tonight's sleep will be great and my back will be all fine tomorrow.
heh. I'm not stupid though. Let the snot be gone!!!