Stage 1: Guilt
O got a cold because of me. If she weren’t so damn cute, I wouldn’t have to kiss her stupid chubby cheeks with my infected stupid damn mouth. Why?! Why can’t I just put her in a big plastic bubble and keep her away from all germs and touchy-feely strangers?
Stage 2: I am Mommy, Hear Me Roar.
I have tissues, a bulb-syringe, Tylenol, natural cold tablets, a humidifier, blankets, love, lots of spare time and batteries for all of the toys in the world that need them to sing
Stage 3: Ew.
When I have a cold, does my green snot run down into my mouth and sometimes skip my mouth altogether and drip over my chin? Or do I spew spit when I cough directly in your face? Or, perhaps, do I need to stay in the bathtub, where the hot water helps me breath, long enough for me to poop in it?
No. Because I am a normal human and babies are officially disgusting.
Stage 4: Call in the Reinforcements.
This is the part where you call your spouse home from work, call your mom, call your dad, call the mailman that gave you a hug that one time; call anyone you want. Call them for reassurance that it’s just a cold and not cancer, that it’s okay your house is a mess and that it eventually will end. Or, call them and tell them to drop what they’re doing and get over here so you can take a nap.
Stage 5: I am Mommy, Hear me Purr
This stage usually happens when baby falls into a deep, snoring sleep. It may have taken days to get here, but when that baby’s head rests on your shoulder and you can hear their snotty nose breathing in your ear, the feeling is wonderful.
So, so wonderful.