Forgive the lack of photos today. Computers, in addition to croup, are also stupid. But anyways…
This weekend marked the umpteenth time that Ewan got croup. We should know the drill by now. He has had it, oh, a million times already. But it never fails to catch us off guard. Which I guess makes sense. After all, like all previous bouts of croup, we put a perfectly normal, happy, healthy boy to bed, only to wake up a few hours later.
Cough. Bark. Wheeze.
We know the routine well enough that it doesn’t take long before we spring into action.
One of us heads into Ewan, as quickly as we can to keep him from getting too worked up. Worked up happens, he can’t breathe so well after all.
The other heads to the bathroom, starting the shower running as hot as it’ll possibly go. And dials the pediatrician.
I’m not even quite sure why we bother to call. With Ewan’s croup, and the fact that he always gets the associated stridor (a wheezy noise that indicates his airway isn’t fully open), the answer has always been the same.
Go to the ER.
Again, we know the routine.
One of us stays with Ewan.
The other runs around like crazy, calling a taxi and packing a bag.
Then, when the taxi comes, we all head out and ride to the ER to get the same answers we always get. He has croup. He needs the steroid. It could be worse tomorrow night.
But this time was different. This time there was another little babe sleeping in the other room. Another little babe that shouldn’t be roused, unnecessarily, from peaceful slumber (he rouses himself – and me – from peaceful slumber enough as it is).
The decision of who would stay and who would go was simple. I, being the sole provider of nourishment since the little babe decided he would not drink from a bottle thank-you-very-much, would stay.
So, I packed up two of my boys and off they went. I stayed and it was one of the harder things I’ve had to do since the three of us became four.
It was hard letting him go. Not being the one to be there. To hold him. To reassure him.
It was hard not being able to be his person.
It was hard having to divide and conquer.
It was hard having to choose.
As I sat in my house watching the taxi drive away with tears welling in my eyes (okay, okay, streaming down my cheeks), I was sad, obviously. But I was also so very thankful that Aaron is as good of a Papa as he is. I was glad that I could be 100% confident that Ewan would be ok. That Aaron would do all of those things as well as I could, maybe better. It was reassuring to be sad not because my little boy would suffer in my absence but simply because I didn’t want to be absent.
And so it goes.
This parenting stuff, it ain’t easy, I tell you.
