Belle felt warm to the touch on Saturday so Craig wanted to take her temperature. What?! But I grew up in a home without a thermometer. My mother's well-trained lips on my forehead determined whether or not I was sick enough to stay home sick or required Tylenol. Additionally, the doctor affirmed that the exact temperature matters in a newborn: a fever of 100.4 is cause for concern. The doctor told me, though, that Belle is old enough that the exact number of her temperature is not as important as whether or not she has a fever.
So, I was opposed to taking Belle's temperature. She felt warm to the touch so we were going to give her Tylenol. But Craig was persistent. A fever from teething would be around 100, while a fever due to illness could be higher, and Craig wanted to know what we may be up against. Also, our new-parents lips aren't so well trained. Craig wanted to know what 'warm' felt like, as opposed to 'hot' (as in, was Belle's temperature 100 or 104?). And so I agreed to help Craig take Belle's temperature.
My great protest was primarily because the most accurate way to take a baby's temperature is rectally. The idea of sticking an instrument in Belle's tiny tuschy made me squirm. But, I wanted to help Craig. So, I acquiesced.
I lay Belle on her belly (ie, tuschy up) on my lap and gave her a toy to play with while Craig dipped the thermometer into petroleum jelly. When he brought the thermometer near Belle's little bum, I started to cry. Belle, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice and was enjoying being on my lap and playing with her toy. After Craig determined that her temperature was 100.8, I dried my tears, gave Belle a big kiss for being so brave (did she even know what was going on?) and we gave her Tylenol.
It seems that some of the poking and prodding hurts me more than it hurts Belle. I guess that's the plight of the mommy.
What's a cotore?
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