Della’s Law: If you tell a room full of people you have the perfect baby who is a genius at sleeping - that is the week you will get no sleep, whatsoever.
In Della’s defense, she is one poor, sick baby. Eye infection, ear infection, nose infection, I think she has all the face infections one can get. I feel so sorry for her, her little head must feel like it is going to ignite.
She’s a newbie to this cold thing, and she’s handling it about as well as a freshly graduated college student on his first day at a new job: dehydrated, crabby, and helpless. At times she tries to smile, and she still tries to coo and talk to us, but her coo’s are coming out more depressing sounding. Like, “coo-ah-oowwww. Mom, my head feels like you’ve been dragging it across an Astroturf lawn and snot is leaking from every hole in my face, but I still want to say what up to all my peeps out there, love ya, even though I am miserably, miserably sick. Also, I’ve been sitting in my own toilet for about twenty minutes now. Help a girl out. Coo-oww, ah-goo. Oww-oww-ow.”
I’ve been sleeping curled up on the floor in her bedroom, at the foot of her crib, with a booger sucker in my hand. I’m scared that she’s going to choke on her own snot, so I want to be able to get to that air-passageway-blocking-phlegm as soon as possible. Plus, she’s been waking up every 20-30 minutes coughing, hacking, sneezing out her snot, and then sniffling it back in, so it’s easier not to have to get out of bed each time that I need to wrestle Della’s head still so I can suck up all the boogers.
Flashback: 7 years ago, it was quite possible that you would find me passed out around a bonfire, sleeping on the hard rocky ground, hugging a tree stump. Present day: now you can find me passed out in a baby’s nursery, using a stuffed lamb as a pillow, hugging a humidifier.
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