One F*cking Raisin

DISCLAIMER: this post may contain unnecessarily gross detail and/or profanity.

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Jonas has RSV. This seems to be a new childhood disease. Or rather, it is an old childhood disease with a new name. Or an old childhood disease that is now routinely diagnosed due to a consistent lab testing mechanism. I don't know why, at age 37, I'm just now learning what the hell it is. It's a fancy name for a respiratory virus that is highly contagious (but only to other children) and can be serious for preemies and infants. Breathing treatments with a nebulizer are routine, and ear infections occur with 75% of cases. Jonas scored a deuce on the ear infections, and is now on antibiotics along with ibuprofen and the nebulizer.

Because he's been a bit of a picky eater while living and feeling the RSV crud, I took time in between all of the other care taking inherent with the needs of a sick 9 month old to make him some tasty carrots blended with yogurt. I cooked the carrots, pureed them in the clunky, cumbersome food processor, and lovingly doled them into individual BPA free glass jars.

This morning, I warmed a jar of the homemade carrots and spent 20 minutes cajoling Jonas to polish it off ; he ate the whole thing. What an accomplishment! I felt pleased and satisfied to have nourished my child in such a complete way. In my slightly irrational mother's mind, he was on the mend, on his way to health, and all because of my efforts. I was so pleased, in fact, that I thought Jonas should be allowed to celebrate with a reward. Although not an accomplished solid food eater, he has enjoyed raisins in the past without mishap. So I gave him a few today as a special dessert. Within minutes, he lodged one of those seemingly innocuous shriveled little masses in the back of his throat, stimulating his gag reflex. Though I hovered with the sippee cup, hoping to help him wash it down before the hurl, it was not to be. Up came the carrots, through his mouth, and through his nose. They just oozed down his poor little face like fast moving lava. I felt terrible. He felt terrible. We both took a moment to whine. Then I mopped up the mess, and he sneezed out most of the rest of the carrots that had gotten lodged in his nostrils. And we left breakfast behind to head upstairs for a wardrobe change.

"Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives."