Beware the Croup
By: Christine Elgersma
Tags: Humor, Baby, Parenting, Health

*Excerpt from Diapers and Delirium*

Baby has the croup, which one might think was trounced back in, say, 1818 or so. But, no — the croup is alive and well and seems to be taking one child after another in its clammy chokehold. And yes, I know it’s just “croup,” but I feel it deserves an article.

Currently, Baby, who is almost two, sounds like a three-pack-a-day hamster. She can barely choke out a word. I’ve learned that the croup (which sounds eerily like The Boogeyman or some other freaky shit that lives under a bed) can shrink a baby’s larynx and trachea, thus producing a sea lion cough and a squeaky, pained voice.

Oh, one other thing: it mysteriously worsens at night. Suddenly, the child’s lungs are flooded with thick mucous. No one knows why. I do. It’s clearly the work of the devil, or some other evil force testing my sanity. And not just mine, oh smug non-parents or parents with older children who look on with that “been there, done that” expression. We parents of children with the croup are on the road driving, people. We are fixing your cars (rag left in engine), depositing your money (forgot a zero), and teaching your children (lost patience AND infected your child).

Here are some key observations from these trying times:

1. Baby can’t breathe. Do I rush her to the hospital? No. Instead, I have a movie flashback to the scene in Terms of Endearment with the steamy bathroom and croup-y baby. I turn on the hot water. 10 minutes later, she can breathe. Deborah Winger’s memorable performance provided medical aid to my child.

2. Allowing Baby to watch a little television while she’s sick. Cartoon called Dinosaur Train. Already there are problems. Dinosaurs, on a train, you say? Can their tiny arms steer? How to they put the baggage up…well, it’s a cartoon. But then, the dinosaurs are talking about going to find fossils. The dinosaurs are going to look for fossils. The conductor (a velociraptor?) is explaining what fossils are…to the child dinosaurs. It’s self-referential in the most terrifying ways.

3. Eating dinner, trying to have a conversation with spouse while Baby squeaks pathetically. She asks us to play “Peek-a-Boo” so now it’s like this:

Me: Covering face. “Should we open the zero percent account?”

Spouse: “Peek-a-boo!” Covering face. “Probably, if the interest rate doesn’t shoot up.”

Baby: “I have the croup! I have the croup!”

Okay, she didn’t actually say that, but its presence is palpable.

4. At work where I endeavor to teach the youth of America to read, write, and do arithmetic passably. Student walks in, “My grandfather just came back and he was bitten by fire ants.” On so little sleep because of the croup’s nocturnal wonders, it took me several minutes to process this, only to find that there were just too many questions to ask and no energy to ask them.

5. Holding a sweaty, miserable Baby and looking down on her exhausted face and thinking, “Holy shit, I’m her mother.” One part wonder, one part gratitude, one part terror, one part exhaustion, one part needy little girl who wants a mommy to take over.

So, beware the croup and its associates — typhoid and consumption — and never underestimate Deborah Winger for any reason.