So, took a whimpering Quinn to the doctor's office tonight for an impromptu visit, at an hour when a) she should be sleeping, and b) I should either be trudging off to the gym, muttering curses all the while, or c) parked on the couch with some chocolate ice cream, my cute and charming husband, and Glee (after a day of wrangling the wee ones, I'll let you decide which option I usually prefer). Do you remember how she initially had that walking pneumonia and an ear infection (of course you do. You are a loyal and awesome reader)? Well, apparently an antibiotic that works on one ailment doesn't necessarily work on another.
So what does that mean for the innocent 11-month-old? That's right: a double ear infection that has gotten so progressively bad it causes a young lass to lose her usually massive appetite (she gained 11 oz. this week. That. Is not. Normal), cry whenever she nurses and randomly stick out her lower lip until it quivers while looking at me with tear-filled eyes, the memory of which will most certainly have us rushing out to buy her a pony the first time she asks for one.
To say that this day has been emotionally draining is like saying that a mom worries a lot. No kidding. The sight of Quinn sitting in her hair chair, just sitting there, looking at me and starting to cry without saying a word, is still playing in front of my eyes. To see this little person of whom you're supposed to take care, and comfort, and fix--and not know how to help her? Oh, it's the pits, and no amount of chocolate ice cream can change that. Now, I need to go tell Dave we've got a stable to build this weekend. For the pony, of course.