This morning, while planning my busy day, I figured I needed to find a time to take Fussy to the doctor. Not that I didn't have enough to do today, but that, it seemed, Fussy was having a hard time breathing.
Since it is April, and I am thinking the rsv season is considered november-march, I figured I was off the hook. And maybe I am. I didn't stick around for the rsv test the doctor wanted to do. Instead, we filled up on a breathing treatment and headed out of the office to meet the home care people who were delivering our very own, brand new nebulizer.
So it is breathing treatments ever 4-6 hours for my smalled kid. I'm glad that is it. I'm glad the doctor didn't freak out and send us to the hospital. Of course, he would have, if Fussy hadn't had such a good o2 score.
I am really glad that I have a healthy baby, one that didn't come early and have compromised lungs. Of course he probably inherited this lung problem from me, and only time will tell if he will have asthma for life. I hope not. It is no fun.
This is on top of the news that Chilly gets to have his tonsills and adenoids taken out in May, and Harry needs to see a councellor for anger management. This is what raising kids is all about right? It's a good thing I've got a good support system, otherwise I'd be going crazy right now.
So there ya go.