Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad

We got the dreaded call this week.

Actually, my husband got the dreaded call.

I made the mistake of letting Baker's dear teachers

know I would be in meetings for the morning.

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

 The call went something like this:

Ring, ring, ring.

(When the daycare, where your beloved is residing calls,

you pick up before the first ring can do its thing.)

The wonderful director, (whom I have bugged every day -

sometimes multiple times a day - calling to check on Bake Bake)

says, "Baker has been wheezing and coughing this morning,

and I became concerned when he got choked on his bottle and began gasping for air.

I think it would be best if you take him to the doctor."

 So, off he goes to pick up Baby Baker.

Mind you, he does not call me.

He texts - "Can you talk?"

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

 If I had known why he wanted to talk,

I would have bolted out of that inconsequential meeting

so fast I would have left cartoon-worthy dust in my tracks.

However, thinking my husband just wanted to lavish me with praise

about my stellar good looks (ha!),

I silenced my phone and went back to planning Baker's attire for the first Alabama football game

paid close attention to the task at hand.

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

 Thirty minutes later, THIRTY minutes later, I could talk and called Brian.

He didn't answer his work, cell, or work cell phones.

(Did I mention I have stalkerish tendencies?)

He finally called back, and says, "I'm just sitting here holding our sweet boy."

A million thoughts run through my head.

Mind you, it's 11:30.

I know Brian is swamped at work all day,

so he's not just going to feed Baker his lunchtime bottle.

The only words I can muster, "Talk faster!"
So he proceeds to tell me about Baker wheezing at school

and choking on his bottle and Baker's (thankfully) cautious preschool teachers and director calling with concern.

 Fast forward several hours, a doctor visit, several prescriptions, a few tears (from yours truly), and we're home with nebulizer in hand.

 I was a wreck.

Having the world's biggest pity party.

Not only do we have physical therapy a few afternoons a week,

a doctor's appointment most weeks to check on this or be proactive about that,

but now, we have to do 30 minute breathing treatments 4-6 times a day.

It was not pretty. I am not proud of it. But, it happened.

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

 I was so worried about Baker.

Concerned he wouldn't tolerate the mask well.

Concerned the medicine would interfere with his sleeping and eating habits.

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

  You'd think I would learn that God is in control.

Holds His children in the palm of His hands.

Has a perfect plan for our little man.

But no, I worried, fretted, cried, doubted.

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

And this is what happened:

In true Baker form , he did perfectly.
Talks and smiles the whole time.
He is such a joy filled baby!

Silly mommy!

It was an icky week of coughing, chest rattling, and fevers.

It broke this mommy's heart to see my boy so pitiful.
 

He's on the mend now.
Turns out terrible, horrible, no good, very bad
wasn't so terrible, horrible, no good, very bad after all.

Praise God for a wonderful husband and father, daycare workers who love my sweets so dearly, and a faithful Father for watching over our precious family.