Cold season

Kinnie has a cold. This is her third or fourth in her life. Seems like a lot to me, since she's been here for only eight months. This, I think, is the worst so far. Of course, I have probably thought that of each as it has come along. In the infancy of my life as a mother, there is nothing worse than knowing my baby doesn't feel well, and having little to offer for comfort. We were up a couple times last night, which hasn't happened for almost 6 months.

I, too, have a cold. I think I got it from Kinnie- probably when she was "kissing" my nose the first day of her cold. I find myself wondering where she picked it up. I know, babies get sick. Especially babies in any kind of daycare setting.

For me, it begs the question of how sanitary is enough, without going overboard. I think my overall feeling is a bit old-fashioned. I don't have a fancy cover for the shopping cart. She sits in it as I did as a kid, often trying to mouth the metal. If we're out, and she gets irritated, I often hand her my keys, upon which she chews. She has chewed on my cell phone, and the dogs have kissed her on the face- sometimes even catching her open mouth. I don't feel panicked when a stranger touches her hands in saying hello.

You see, I don't want Kinnie to grow up in a bubble, thinking of the dangers that things pose prior to experiencing them. It is not that I don't care. Quite the opposite, in fact. I feel a fierce sense of protection over my child. And, as she grows, I will teach her when there are true dangers present. But, a little dirt? A few germs? I guess I wonder if I panic about these things now, what will I have left when it's time to really panic?

Pick your battles. That's what I think. Now, somebody promise to remind me, when Kinnie is a teenager, that this was my perspective...