Almost a Nightmare

Baby had her 9 month well visit today--though I think it's safe to say that no one in this family is feeling well. That's one of the reasons I was really hoping this visit would just be a vitals / measurement check--no funny business with needles.

Baby woke up from her afternoon nap feeling emotionally fragile.  She was tired, fussy, and wanted to be no less than cuddled at all times.  I packed her up, grabbed the diaper bag, tripped over hubby's shoes, tripped over a package for work, and slammed my car door into the new miter saw that he got for his birthday.  I'm not including this rundown as a passive aggressive attack on my dear husband, I'm including it because, no matter how on top of things I seem to think I am, we are always literally or figuratively tripping out the door.  Luckily, this was our best time ever--only 2 minutes late!

When the doctor looked in Baby's ears, she started sad crying.  So when I found out that she would be getting a couple of shots and a finger prick for blood tests, I knew this was going to be a long visit.  Big. Heavy. Sigh.  She screamed.  She cried.  Big fat tears streamed down her face.  Baby stifled her sobs just long enough to cry out "Mama."  I think I hate these visits as much as she does.

They put a tiny little band-aid on her tiny little bleeding finger.  For one of the very few times in our reflux riddled breastfeeding relationship, nursing comforted her.  I held her until she was calm, her face still blotchy and red.  I pointed out to my husband that we would need to remove that tiny band-aid before we got in the car.  I felt proud of myself for thinking of that--good job, Mama!

Still suffering from this cold that frequently makes it difficult for Baby to eat, I wanted to run to the store and get a NoseFrida to try out.  Team Shakes came up with a plan: Hubby would take baby home for a bath and bedtime routine while I rushed to the store to get a NoseFrida.  And off we went, feeling rather proud of ourselves for our excellent teamwork.

When I was leaving the store, I noticed a missed call from Hubby.  I called him back on speaker phone as I climbed into the car.  His voice rang through the phone...

"Remember that tiny band-aid that was on Baby's tiny finger?"

My throat closed.  I yelled "WHAT HAPPENED?" and scrambled for the phone.  He mumbled something that I could not hear.  I repeated myself, feeling dizzy and sick to my stomach.  Hubby quickly reassured me that everything was okay.  

Hubby had been driving home with baby when she started to cough.  He suddenly remembered the band-aid, and pulled into the nearest parking lot.  He said he knew something was wrong the minute he opened the door just by the look on her face. He swept his finger through her mouth and came out with the band-aid.

Everything was okay. 

But it almost wasn't.

In that split second, in that tiny little moment, with that tiny little band-aid, everything was almost not okay.  Had I been driving, I am certain--without a doubt--that I would have assumed she was coughing because of her cold.  I know that my tired, sick mind would not have put that puzzle together fast enough.

Maybe I am letting my imagination run away with me.  But tonight I will be grateful.  I will be grateful that I thought to verbalize my concern. I will be grateful that Hubby remembered and took action. I will be grateful for every cuddle, even if it means I'm up all night. 

Let's face it, I wasn't going to get much sleep anyways.