Last night Julie and I sat downstairs and listened to Lyla cough and hack in the baby monitor. There was no crying, no wheezing, nothing to compel us to rush upstairs, just that Virginia Slims cough. Eventually, it stopped.
Around 10:00 we crept upstairs to go to bed, and Julie cracked open the nursery door. Whoa, it reeked in there, like a dormitory bathroom after a long Saturday night. Lyla's eager gag reflex clearly had kicked in sometime while coughing. Now she was fast asleep in the bile with chunks in her hair.
So we felt like awesome parents, especially when we closed her door and pondered the merits of just letting her sleep through it. It sounds callous now, but a sleeping baby is a sleeping baby.
We woke her up in the end because she smelled so rank. Also because we agreed that if we were in her position, sleeping in our own barf, we would want to be woken up. But Lyla was not pleased to be roused, stripped, and hosed off in the tub. Then again, I hope at some point she thought to herself, "Hey, I don't smell so hideous anymore! Maybe I'll get a boyfriend after all." (Or a girlfriend. We don't judge.)
Tonight she's upstairs sleeping and not coughing. My fingers are crossed that all the workers in her snot factory went home to their families for the night.
Ollie puked while coughing in his sleep last night, too. But I was the bad parent....what's a little pureed carrot on the front of PJs going to harm?
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