It finally happened. My son has a cold.
About ten minutes into our visit in Guelph for my sister-in-law’s baby shower, I realized that one of his cousins had a runny nose. Uh oh. Kids and illness go together like chocolate and peanut butter. Rather than making a big fuss and segregating them, I decided to let the inevitable happen. His immune system needed a test anyway.
He’s not doing too badly. He has a cough and is pretty congested. But, he still has energy and no fever. For some reason, he hates it when I try to wipe the snot off his face. Dude, it’s dribbling down your chin! So not attractive.
Like my mother, I don’t medicate a cold. Even though my parents are nurses, only the most benign measures were ever used to combat sickness. If we had the sniffles, we ate chicken soup. Fever? We sipped ginger ale. My parents figured that our bodies would take care of the rest. We also got to live in our pajamas and watch TV all day. Of course, I faked it sometimes.
So, I will try to do the same with my boy. He’s a little young for ginger ale but some TLC and lots of Baby Einstein should help. I may give him more boob juice so that he gets more fluids. The sippy cup is just not cutting it for him. I just wish I could teach him how to blow his nose.