Every time Devin gets a cold, it tends to spiral into breathing problems (most likely asthma, but we haven’t gotten to that diagnosis just yet). It took us and the doctors a bit of exprience to get to the right combo of medicines to deal with it. So anytime a cough starts, we have to start his inhaler.
Day before yesterday I heard it coming, so we started his meds. That means he gets the inhaler every 4-6 hours, unless he’s sleeping peacefully. He wasn’t last night. So we had to rouse him from his half-sleep, then place the mask over his mouth and nose to administer the medicine. He hates this enough when he’s awake. It’s no picnic during the wee hours.
Scott took the first shift, and at 4:55 this morning, I took the second one. He didn’t move at all when I came into his room. But as I was putting the inhaler into the spacer, I dropped the cap. It plunk, plunk, plunked across the wood floor, making just enough noise to wake him. As I leaned down into the crib to pick him up, I saw his eyes, wide open, looking up at me.
What does a child that age think when forced from sleep that way? Instead of being awakened in my arms as usually happens, he was startled awake by a strange noise. There’s some light coming through his blinds, but the room is still mostly dark. I know he couldn’t tell it was me right away by his reaction. I felt this lump in my throat as I quickly moved to reassure him. I whispered to him that it was OK. But I wonder if he was frightened for a moment. I really, really hope he wasn’t.