My Poor Baby

6 10 2009

What started off as a beyond pleasant Saturday turned into a heartbreaking couple days this past weekend. Azita was refusing to eat on Saturday, and I just chalked it up to her usual finickiness with food (a regular occurrence as of late). But then the moaning started. It was the most pitiful sound. Imagine dying soldier on the battlefield in a Civil War movie, but coming out of a little baby with a pacifier in her mouth. That’s when I noticed that she was really hot and flushed. Sure enough, she had a fever, one that has steadily hovered at around 103-103.5 for the past few days. A trip to the doctor turned up nothing. She was given the catch-all diagnosis — a virus — and the usual prognosis — it’ll go away on its own. But, there’s no denying it, she’s still sick. And, the moaning. It’s still there, and it’s killing me.

Leaving her at daycare this morning was so heart-wrenching. It felt like a slightly less intense version of her first day at daycare. I won’t deny that I was on the verge of tears for much of the drive into work. I feel pretty sure that my heart may rend into two if she doesn’t start feeling better soon. When it comes down to it, though, it’s really not so bad. She has a fever, and she’ll get through this. I can’t help thinking of all those parents out there with really ill children who won’t get through it or will at least have a much tougher time doing so. Babies with illnesses serious enough to warrant hospitalization. I can’t imagine what they are going through, what they have to see their babies go through, the moaning they have to hear. It’s enough to break me out of my funk and make me thankful.




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