Getting the "The baby is inconsolable, what should I do?" text is never good. She'd been feverish all night and day, but when I got that message, I immediately called the doctor to schedule a sick visit (a 45-minute drive each way during holiday rush hour, no less) and headed straight home.
When I got there, I found a chipper little girl chasing her siblings outside.
I shouldn't be surprised since my husband is the king of the man cold, and has, in the past, called me with various situations that require my immediate attention that he is quite capable of handling.
An emergency is a child who will not wake up from a nap, not a child who doesn't want to take one.
But in this case it had a little less to do with the male characteristic exaggeration of illness symptoms and more about having a child who is always pleasant.
If you have one, then you know what I mean.
Our first baby was rarely chipper or pleasant, well unless she was attached to my boob or I was holding her.
And so we were sort of trained into being patient. Very patient.
We'd perform a veritable Cirque du Soleil act to get her to stop crying or fall asleep or just let me go poop alone without you sitting on my lap for the love of God.
Look, it's Daddy juggling 9 bowling pins on a unicycle! Now just give me three seconds to put a fucking bra on because I can't do that while holding you.
But Bridget is ridiculously pleasant. From when she wakes up in her crib babbling and smiling at you to when you put her back down in her crib babbling and smiling at you, she is always babbling and smiling.
And we just got used to it. So much so that when she's not, we're short. And snippy.
We lament the clingy baby who isn't really clingy compared to old Magneto Squid Face who was attached to my leg or nipple for a solid year.
And when she cries, for more than a minute, we think she's inconsolable.
Please. Quinlan cried for almost three hours straight one night during my feeble, guilt-inducing, DYFS-calling I NEED TO GET SOME MOTHER-EFFING SLEEP GODAMMIT CIO session one night.
The next time I tried to avoid my full-length Swan Lake ballet bedtime routine (spins, twists, dips, oh my!), she jumped out of her crib and broke her leg in two places.
So, with her, we would have celebrated one minute of crying.
I just had to text you, honey, and let you know that the baby only cried FOR ONE MINUTE STRAIGHT! We're getting out the fancy vodka tonight!
But when you have a sweet baby, that one minute is like hell. An awful, pain-inducing hell that feels like three hours.
Thankfully she just had a cold, which I had the pleasure of paying money to hear personally from my doctor.
Next time, I'll be sure to get a little more information before freaking out. Because one kid's "inconsolable" is another kid's really good day.