Rest assured, cradling my baby girl in my arms at the local ER is not on the list.
There are many lovely sounds that children make that endear them to their parents. They coo and shit. It's nice. When they wake up in the middle of the night and sound almost exactly like a harmonica, that is most assuredly not one of those types of sounds.
L did her very best harmonica imitation for me last night. She's good. Turns out, the croup not only causes that awful seal-sounding, barky sort of cough, it also makes them sound like they're wheezing.
So, of course, I totally fucking panicked and we spent a few hours in the ER. Her heart rate was 176 when we got there, and for you non-mommies and daddies, that's way the fuck higher than it should be. A few hours and a bunch of steroids later, she is sleeping at home and I am cross-eyed tired. I had a good, long, sobbing, chunky-tears sort of cry tonight in our little room at the hospital, and I suspect that has been over-due, so at least some good has come of this. Oh, and she doesn't have asthma, which is the best news ever. This is precisely how we found out that B was asthmatic, at right about the same age, 7 years ago.
All of this comes after best night ever at Hot Gay Russell and Thad's house. Russell gave me a very naughty gift and as soon as I can pull my face out of it, I will share some pictures and a heart-breaking tale of unrequieted, pointless, gay boy love with you.
We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dreams. Even if they are totally futile gay boy crush dreams.