The Weekend I Didn't Bubblewrap My Son

This weekend I have become very aware of the fact that God has taken me on an incredible journey throughout my Mommyhood thus far.

For example, yesterday afternoon I realized that Declan was probably getting sick.  I knew this because my son, the Big Hungry, was content with only half of his usual hulk sized bottle. And then he didn't scream bloody murder for solid foods. To top that all off, he actually took a regular sized baby nap. So either somebody swapped my baby out for a fairly normal one, or DJ was feeling under the weather.

Matt laughs at me almost every time I decide to take Declan's temperature.  In Matt's defense, this is because I took it so much during the first three month's of DJ's life that the poor thing was probably starting to think the thermometer was a permanent annex to his buttock region. Even Matt, however, was shocked to see that little digital number climb all the way to 102.6.

Now, keep in mind that the woman writing this is the same person who literally took Declan to the emergency room the first time he coughed and spiked a whopping fever of 99.4. So, the fact that I wasn't dousing Declan in ice water while calling for the ambulance is quite an accomplishment, in my opinion.

I did, however, call the after hours line at our pediatrician's office. In case you've never called an after hours line before, if you ever do, don't expect a concerned soul on the other line. I guess these people are probably used to frantic mothers calling about more pressing issues, but when I began explaining Declan's fever to the woman on the other line, she responded, in her charming chain-smoker tones with "I don't need to know that. Date of birth of the child?"

An hour later, I still hadn't heard from a doctor, who was supposedly going to call me back within the next half hour. So I called again.

Me: Hi, I called about an hour ago about my son, Declan, and I still haven't heard from a doctor. He has a pretty high fever, and it's still spiking, so--

Chain-smoking Call Center Girl: Still don't need to know. Repeat your number for me, and I'll send the page out again.

Two hours later, after still not hearing anything, I called again.  Apparently enough time had elapsed that there was a shift change, because a fairly timid man picked up this time.  I explained my situation again, not bothering to hide my distaste for the great raspy wonder I'd spoken to earlier, to which he replied, with fear in his voice, "Oh, you spoke to Clarrise, didn't you?"

When the doctor finally did call me back, I took her casual tone as affirmation that Declan was probably going to live and my mind was finally a bit more at ease.

So, in six short months I feel I have graduated from the "seriously considering bubble wrapping my son" club, to the "eh, rub some ibuprofen on it. He's fine" crowd. Oh how times change.

And, for the record, Declan is feeling much better today. I'm glad we saved ourselves that emergency room bill this time.