Last night was a rough one. Dr. B was working on 3 hours of sleep, but still ran to the store for more medicine and kleenex, to the video store for a return and to pick up dinner (he ordered me to not cook.) I am still feeling horrid, with a stuffy head, coughing and aching abs from all the coughing and nose-blowing, so was looking forward to a slug of NyQuil and a long rest. Sensing that something was coming, I propped Rowan's crib mattress up with a few books, just in case the cold we have was hitting her.
Then, at 12:30 she woke up, screaming. I ran in, picked her up, and brought her to the changing table. Then I nearly passed out myself. I think the quick jump up combined with the sickness and cold meds made my blood pressure drop (not unusual for me). "Honey, you need to come! I'm in trouble!" I yelled. He took her, I sat in the bathroom until I could see straight, and went back to bed as he rocked her back to sleep.
At 2, she cried again. I couldn't find Dr. B, so I ran in to get her. He came flying up the stairs; I guess he had just laid her down after rocking her to sleep and ran to get himself some OJ. "What's wrong? I just laid her down, she was fine," he said. "Oh, dear God, she's burning up!" I answered, and pulled out the thermometer as I laid her on the changing table.
She screamed, but didn't fight the thermometer placed in the place where nobody wants anything placed, if you know what I mean. Ahem. I watched it climb, and felt my heart sink.
A call to the doctor, some liquid Motrin, and a night of her sleeping in my arms. She would cry as soon as I laid her down, so I slept with her head nestled in the crook of my elbow, and as she cried out in her sleep, I'd tap her nuk until she calmed down again and sank into slumber.
Up at 7:30, down for a 10-minute nap at 9 (yes, TEN minutes. TEN.) and one very fussy, clingy girl.
It's gonna be a long, long day. Sigh.