Wee Little Sick One

Blergh.

The poor little girl is sick. At every sneeze he has snot coming out of her nose roughly the size of her entire face.

It's not a pretty sight, let me tell you.

She cried most of last night; waking when she couldn't breathe properly, crying for an hour or so until she found a position in which she could sleep, only to wake in another hour or so when the snot became too much to bare once again.

Her mother and I? Also sick.

The next picture is AFTER the sneeze. You're welcome.

Our household is not the happiest and healthiest of places today. Nobody slept well, nobody can breathe properly, and nobody knows how to make a sick baby happy since there are no medicines for someone her weight and nothing to be done.

The poor girl.

There's an interesting dichotomy that happens with the sick baby at night though:

"I'm not sic. I ken breeb jus fine, dabby."

Thought One: "She's crying. I should go soothe her so that she can go to sleep."

Thought Two: "She has stopped crying. What if it's because she can't breathe anymore?!"

If you give in to the fear from thought two you need to fully expect to wake the baby up and be thinking thought one all over again.

Ah, the vicious cycle starts again, as she just woke from her nap.