this, too, shall pass

This weekend, I am trying valiantly to apply these small, unassuming four words to everything I do. According to an ancient Sufi story, 'this, too, shall pass' was the counsel given to a persian prince by a wise man. The prince was suffering angst over the great changes in mood he experienced, between happiness and despondency. The wise man advised that beyond serving as a comfort, these words bring a stillness to the situation at hand. They allow us to recognise the brevity of all moments and the inevitability of change. Once we are able to see this, fear and angst about the future passes.
I am hanging on each little word to greatly appreciate the good, and hit back and sail through the bad and the ugly. When a mother at Little Gym chortles in my face at the idea that her son's barking cough may be contagious. When tt wakes forty-eight hours later unable to breathe with his second onslaught of croup. When having to pump 11ml of oral steroids into his hungry little body to open up swollen airways. When infection rattles him overnight, and j and I run relays in the dark for bottles and thermometer. And then, after hours holding him upright and tt finally grants me permission to lie us both down together in his cot, he snuggles in close and then I am loath to recall that: this, too, shall pass.

barking at bubbles

There's a puddle of wee at my foot. Which is actually really helpful because I've been told to watch the colour of it. The depth of colour and tone tells me how dehydrated the little, culprit wee-er is. And trying to ascertain this from a wet nappy or the bath water is not an easy task. This is, by comparison, a perfectly delightful exercise.

This week I was charged with taking happy snaps of poo-ey nappies. Our Paediatrician likes to keep a database of soiled nappies. Can you believe this? A little off-put at first, I have learnt to appreciate the greater purpose, as she whips up the offending specimen on desktop, displaying warning signs of a possible negative reaction to a course of antibiotics. The images even managed to silence the baby.

This has been a week of Croup in our family. Unsure as to what this actually was, Google provided temporary relief while we sat in emergency and coaxed the baby to keep the noisy, great nebuliser strapped to his head. The machine wheezed and pumped hot, steamy steroids down his little lungs and J read out loud. Croup refers to swelling around the vocal cords and O's was the result of a horrible respiratory infection he'd found and decided to taste at play group, and forgotten to tell me about. It all started last Monday night when I walked into his room to find a small barking seal pup gasping for air.

Aside from all the extra time we've had together, since the busy play group agenda got the big red cross through it, we've also discovered the wonderful world of bubble baths. Each night we sit in the depths of an overflowing tub of steamy, eucalyptus deliciousness and pop great, gum-tree tasting bubbles together. Who knew that even Croup could have an upside!