Winter Blues

We have been battling an illness over the past few weeks. And by 'we' I mean our poor sweet baby, while Tony and I are popping Zicam like they're breath mints and doing everything short of buying him a pony to keep Des from being miserable. There's nothing sadder than a sick kid, especially when it's your own. After a long day, Tony and I lay in bed talking about how much we wish we could be sick for him. How there should be an invention that can suck out whatever parasite is poisoning our son and inject it into ourselves. How we would very happily provide a cozy home for any virus, as long as it stayed the heck out of our baby.

Dear Geniuses in the Fields of Science and Smart Things, Please invent said mechanism on behalf of parents everywhere. Shanks.

Des had his 12-month well visit with the pediatrician and we found out that he's, well, not so well. At least, not well enough to have his scheduled shots. He had some congestion and a slight cough for a while, but he was eating and sleeping fine and his spirits were up. So we didn't think much of it. But after the doctor spent an unusually long time looking into his ears, he told us that he did in fact have a bad cold and an ear infection. Happy first birthday little dude!

We're on our 2nd round of antibiotics, after the first round didn't quite do the trick. Giving it the old 1-2 punch. For those that are not aware, antibiotics produce amazing works of art in diapers, let me tell you. There was even one when I considered yelling to Tony to grab the camera, but I thought better about achieving that new low. Not yet, mama... give it time.

Despite some understandable bouts of crankiness, Des has been a trooper. Even through the ear pain, fevers, and yucky congestion. We go back to the doctor for the 3rd time next week, in the hopes that everything is cleared up and he can finally get his shots.

And for those that are interested in this kind of stuff, Desmond's 12-month stats are:
Height: 32" (95th percentile)
Weight: 24.4 lbs (70th percentile)

The doctor says he'll be tall and lean like his dad. And that he will "tower over mom." I'm hoping for 6'5", 230 pounds, laser rocket arm. But really, as long as he's healthy it doesn't matter. Right now, health is what we're striving for!


Feel better, budzo.