I have found that parenting has a sort of cycle to it. It goes something like this:
1. Receive semi-worrisome or negative news.
3. Do everything in your power to correct said negative thing or minimize long-term impact of negative thing.
4. Get good news that your efforts have paid off.
5. Smile for three seconds; release one sigh of relief.
6. Receive semi-worrisome or negative news about something totally unrelated and unexpected.
In Ryan’s seven months on Earth, we have battled fevers, RSV, eczema, heat rashes, a flat head, ear infections that just won’t die, and weeks upon weeks of congestion and coughing.
At his most recent appointment – where we were told he was almost over the ear infection and probably wouldn’t need a helmet to round out his head (yay!) – our doctor casually threw out a word we didn’t see coming: Asthma.
He didn’t diagnose him with it. It was more like “Well, eczema and allergies and asthma and congestion and wheezing and coughing all go hand-in-hand.”
Whatever that means.
Of course, we have a family history off all of that stuff on my side (baby gets daddy’s good looks and mommy’s eczema, which makes mommy feel awesome).
But through it all, Ryan couldn’t care less. Believe me when I say he is utterly oblivious to any of it. After all, he’s busy. He has toys to play with and/or eat.
So maybe I shouldn’t worry about the A-word. Maybe the doctor will rule it out in a month and then tell me that, like, he’s missing a lung (or something less dramatic like he has a pollen allergy).