Fly the Croup


I know I know, I've been slacking on the blog this week. But I have two good reasons:

1. Nick has the week off and we've been working on "letting nature take its course" to bring on the labor as J.T. my trusty OB prescribed, and

2. Ellie has The Croup.

Combining the two is like watching your grandpa do a pole dance then being escorted into the champagne room.

For those without kids or who have been lucky enough to avoid The Croup, the technical medical term is Holy Shit Fucking Fuck Fuck My Baby Is On The Verge Of Death Please Do Something Why Are You Just Sitting There Looking At Me With That Look On Your Face You Stupid Worthless Idiot.

When I was pregnant with Ellie, Nick and I took a babymoon to California and one night we took a romantic sunset stroll hand-in-hand along a beach filled with elephant seals. They're cute little critters but make a God-awful noise and the smell is enough to make someone's hair fall out. They have a lot in common with present day Ellie:

The other little Croup fun fact is that it gets worse when she sleeps, which, if you're doing the math is prime time to let nature take its course and nothing gets you more in the mood to let nature take its course than the sound of your baby barking and gasping for air in her crib.

Timing has been good for Nick to be home this week because one of the big perks of being married to a doctor is that he can quickly diffuse the frantic freak out panic attacks I have every five minutes (give or take four minutes). Had it not been for this constant reassurance that she is not going to die I would have set up camp in the hospital parking lot, running her into the ER every time she sneezed.

I must say that in addition to dispelling my death fears it has been awesome to have someone around to talk to during the day other than the voices in my head.

However, his constant presence makes me feel a little bit like the boss has flown in from Tulsa and is poking around the office to make sure his employees aren't goofing off making prank phone calls all day.

I've been home with Ellie for eight months now, and I have come to accept it as my full-time job. As I went about performing our trump-tight routine Nick spent the majority of the day following me around asking "what do you do next"? I can't blame him - I was asking everyone I knew that very same question for the first four months.

However, I found myself feeling defensive while I explained pancake o'clock.

In fact, I found myself explaining a lot of things, including the importance for sippie cup efficiency. Dude, these things don't grow on trees. You can save the juice leftovers for lunch.

I like to think that yes, while many of the things I do during the day seem trivial, a quick peek behind the curtain has enlightened Nick to the reality that is laundry and the next time he pulls that clean pair of underwear out of his drawer he'll have a greater appreciation of the work it took to get them there.

Or maybe not. He's back to work this weekend and I'm pretty sure he left skidmarks in the driveway when he left two hours early this morning.

I'm going to go ahead and take that as a compliment.