Baby Bugs

Lucia has been sick.  She contracted one of those baby-illnesses that only babies ever seem to get: roseola.  Nothing serious, just a fever for three days straight which spiked and broke with a stunning rash of a thousand red pin-points.  I felt like a veteran mother when I recognized the illness and didn't bat an eyelash over it.  Two days later, when Lucia still wasn't eating or smiling or laughing, and when two lumps swelled out of the back of her head, just at the base of her skull, I started to worry.

My anxiety always comes back to brain anomalies.  It's just one of those things: collateral damage from one very unlucky baby and my fleeting glimpse into a vast world of terrible things that can happen to a child.  I know, rationally, that both my living daughters have very healthy brains, but get me worked up and I just can't shake the nagging fear that maybe they don't.  Maybe Lucia has ventriculomegaly, and one day the fluid will flood into her head at a fantastic rate, crushing her brain, swelling her skull, and rendering my perfect, healthy baby disabled. 

So I called the doctor.  I am ambivalent about the girls' pediatrician.  She's stern, not the best with kids, and thinks I'm a crazy hippie.  I'm always half-worried that she's going to call social services on me for... I don't know... having a home-birth?  Washing my own cloth diapers?  You'd better believe I haven't told her about Lucia being poop-trained by 5 months.  One thing I will say for her, however, is that she sees my kids on short notice and her medicine seems very sound. 

The previous week, she had called me back personally to reassure me that Lucia's maple-syrup smelling morning diapers were NOT the devastating genetic disease (maple syrup urine disorder). I was expecting some similar talk-down for this case.  Instead, she wanted to see Lucia right away.

Thankfully, the appointment was completely reassuring.  Hand-foot-and-mouth disease is running rampant through my neighborhood, and she just wanted to check Lucia's mouth, which was mercifully blister-free.  The skull ridges were swollen lymph-nodes, which strongly supported my armchair diagnosis of roseola.  The poor mood, she told me, was no surprise.  It might last an entire week after the fever broke.  All was well -- except for Lucia's weight.  My baby lost some weight, and I was put under strict orders to do whatever it took to get some more calories into the girl and keep her better-hydrated until her appetite returned.

For a few days, I mixed Lucia's bottles up with a spoon full of sugar and a few drops of vanilla extract.  It felt silly, but it did the trick.

I am happy to report that my sweet baby girl is back to her old self.  She resumed laughing, signing, crawling, and standing up yesterday.  At the rate she is eating, she'll put her weight back on in no time.