I cough. She cries.
January 9th, 2014
Perhaps it should come as no surprise – given how much time we spend together – that Little Bird is highly attuned to me. She responds to my movements in her sleep, reaching a hand to touch me, turning her face toward me. She zeroes in on my presence the second I’m in a room and seems to be able to sense if I’m in the house at all (maybe she can smell the breast milk?)
And she hates it when I cough.
I’ve been fighting a cold for several weeks now and it has brought with it a dry tickling cough. My grandma called it a “biscuit cough.” Every now and again, it sneaks up on me and I spend a few moments coughing, trying to clear the tickle.
Little Bird inevitably bursts into tears.
They’re very particular tears, too. Not her whiny cry or her mad cry. It’s a high-pitched, quavering sob that clearly conveys her absolute conviction that I’m going to die of tuberculosis at any moment, leaving her to fend for herself in the world.
Time to stockpile the cough drops!