Raise your hand if you know what croup is?
If you answered a combination of crap and poop YOU ARE CORRECT.
However I also found out very quickly that it is a baby virus sent to torture sweet little smushy baby faces all around the world (and their parents). Right smack dab in the middle of my boob lump drama, G caught croup. He caught it somehow, in the dark, in his crib, in the middle of the night. I think he’s hiding shit under his mattress. Like rusty nails and saliva from friends.
We wake up to the most horrid sounding cough you can imagine. I thought my son had become a seal. Because the cough literally sounds like a barking seal. It’s HORRIFIC. The child then had trouble breathing. Like for serious you guys. I brought him into our bed and was quickly reminded how happy I am that we no longer co-sleep. So I ended up sleeping on his nursery floor while he would do this
sleep
15 minutes
seal bark SCREAM stop breathing
*trip to the steam bathroom*
sleep
15 minutes
seal bark SCREAM stop breathing
mom loses her shit
Dad takes G outside in the FREEZING cold to get night air
mom cries in a corner
sleep
15 minutes
seal bark SCREAM stop breathing
ALL.NIGHT.LONG.
I debated taking him to the ER but I’m a queen over reactor so I thought I’d be a sensible mom and wait it out.
Sensible moms are assholes.
Because not 15 minutes after sitting with the doctor, he sent us to the hospital for xrays for PNEUMONIA.
jesusgod people. BABY PNEUMONIA.
I called B in hysterics.
Me: MY BABY MY BABY
B: It’s ok, I’ll meet you there in 15 minutes
Me: SOB SOB SOB
B: IT WILL BE OK
Me: MY BAAAAABY
B: Just DRIVE.
Do you know what is sad? Yes, those Sarah McLaughlin animal commercials. I agree. But so is a tiny child getting a chest xray. But he did not have pneumonia. Thank god. He was then admitted directly to the ER because he was “working to breathe”. What a TERRIBLE sentence.
I’ll wait while you get a bandaid for your heart.
He got a tiny little breathing treatment that made him look like a dragon, some steroids and lots of fever reducer because it was 103.3 ja;sldkjfa;lskdjfa;lksdjf
My poor little monkey who bounces off the walls couldn’t even sit up. I cried maybe every odd hour.
The only thing that made the child happy the next day was a warm steamy bath. So happy that for the first time ladies and gentlemen, he shit in the tub. WARNING, I’M GOING TO SHOW YOU THE SHIT. IF YOU DON’T WANT TO SEE IT. DON’T LOOK.
NOW STOP COMPLAINING ABOUT SEEING IT. Because I am the one who had to get the very sick child out and fish the poop out with my hand in a plastic bag that OOPS looks like it has a hole in it. Awesome. And oops, the poop disintegrates into 1 million tiny poops diffusing throughout the tub of water, all through the tiny holes and crevices of rubber ducks and toy boats. I am then the one who gets the STRAINER from the kitchen to get the bigger poops out to dump them into the toilet. I am then the one who has to collect the poop toys into a bucket with the poop strainer and somehow clean out the tub because it smells like a frat toilet.
I obviously sent that picture straight to B and requested a raise in my House Manager salary.
B says this: I would have just flushed the poop.
WHAT A GREAT IDEA YOU ASSHOLE.
Please remember that B has given this child a bath every single night of his life and he poops with me.
But G was not better and today we found out that he has bronchitis and double ear infections. But he’s starting to improve and let me tell you this: This took more out of me and was 100 times more stressful for me than finding out about Mr lumpy hump.
The one thing that got me through my lump ordeal was telling myself how much worse it would be if G was the one with a mysterious lump instead of me. That made me grateful for my lump and gave me the strength and courage to face it head on. And having G sick this week was a really good constant reminder of that.
This was G’s first REAL sickness and it won’t be his last and I have NO idea how I’m going to deal with more of this. I don’t know how any of you deal with this.
I am currently working on a love bubble for my baby. It’s made of marshmallow, bunnies and clouds and it protects my super sweet baby from rusty nails and friend saliva. He can totally live in that for a good 17 years. Oh, I’m also considering accepting donated breastmilk for G. And that is not a joke. I really miss having my super sweet magical health juice for G. He was never sick with the good shit.
Now please tell me how you keep your children safe. I’m accepting blueprints for bubbles.
Also I don’t want to hear about the shit picture. Go wash your eyes.
Worn the F out,
MODG
Hi I’m MODG. But you can call me MODG. You say it like Modg, like a Grandma name. Not like M.O.D.G. That’s a lot of syllables and I don’t have that kind of time. 
