Saturday morning we got kolaches (YUUUM!) and headed over to pick up John on our way to Galveston for the Beach Bash. Justin, Erin, and The Boys usually have one large blow-out party every summer when they return from Indonesia. This year it was in Galveston. John enjoyed seeing the ocean for the first time and playing with (dirty, nasty) sand. He didn't even mind the little waves.
However today we noticed that John's cough (which he's had since Thursday) was getting bad enough that it was starting to sound like an old smoker. I can't imagine that him eating a fist full of sand on Saturday helped the situation? It's hard to see in this photo but there is sand residue all over that little munchable mouth.
I took him to the doctor and she noticed he had some wheezing in his lungs and I had to give him a breathing treatment. Ok people, this is just about one of the worst things I, personally, have had to do to my own child. (Thankfully, this is the worst thing we've had to deal with and I realize that is a blessing in itself.) Back to the breathing treatment--I had to physically restrain my little boy while holding a mask over his face for five minutes. Five minutes seems like 50 minutes when you're holding down a terrified little person who is looking at you like "Why, mommy? What did I do to deserve this? Why are you hurting me?" Not to mention the flailing and screaming and crying. Certainly not a one person job. John is so NOT dramatic most of the time and his desperation today was so extreme it almost had me crying. Hopefully little man will be back in order soon. Breathing Treatments = Bad News Bears (for Mommy)
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