Today in "Holy Crap:" Isaac is sick.

Isaac has spent the last two nights hacking violently in his sleep. We saw it all coming, and took him to the doctor Friday to confirm/deny that Isaac has his first cold (CONFIRMED). All the basic rules apply; try to make sure he rests, watch his temperature/eating/pooping habits (the big 3 of parenting a newborn, btw), and keep him as comfortable as possible. He's totally fine, but that pathetic cough is heartwrenching. It's like hearing a kitten yowling outside in the winter. There's not a whole lot you can do about it though, and honestly, with the exception of one tantrum yesterday around 6pm, he's been smiling lethargically through the whole affair.

In related news, I appear to be getting sick, as well. Shannon has apparently decided to act as our own Typhoid Mary, only she doesn't cook. The worst part about getting sick now is that since Isaac is handling it so well, there's a direct guy-to-guy toughness comparison going on. Consequently, I CANNOT MILK THIS SICKNESS FOR FAVORS! That's the best part about being sick! "I'd get two McDoubles, a large fry with BBQ sauce, and a meat coke (inside joke) myself, but I'm DYING!" Used to be, I could pull that stunt once or twice per serious cold. Now I can't because Shannon can just throw Ike's toughness back in my face. DAMMIT!

Oh, and this stuff is pretty great, especially with that whole "all baby meds being recalled" thing.

Today in Holy Crap: Isaac is Mobile

Grandma has been providing free child care for a couple of weeks, while Shannon goes to work and I go to get yelled at by South Bronx 12 year olds. Today, Isaac got to play on his mat for a minute while grandma washed some bottles and some grandma. Apparently, this location was not ideal, and he somehow scooted/rolled himself a full 3 feet off the mat, managing to get wedged under the coffee table before finally calling out for help. Isaac is now capable of moving.

This is like a whole new frontier in being a parent. Before, he was loud, he was screamy, he was barfy and poopy, but he was stationary. If you needed to go to the bathroom, or to the kitchen to fix a bottle, we could trust him in the middle of the bed, or on the couch, or on the oversized ottoman. We can't do that now. And this is just plain terrifying.

The closest we've come to baby-proofing the apartment to this point was to put the lube in a drawer, and now everything has to be thought about. Shoes in the entryway? Nooooooo. Don't put your pants on the floor, dad. And careful with the TV, Dave. Babies love to play with those.

Stupid growing-too-fast baby.