My son?
The chubby one?
The cute little boy I always talk about.
Yeah, him.
Right there.
3 out of 6 months of his life, he has been on breathing treatments. What a pain, what a scare...but last Wednesday, the diagnosis was spoken from that pediatrician guy (we refer to him as grandpa). A diagnosis I wasn't sure you could give a guy as little (or should I say young) as ours. Reactive Airway Disease. Disease? What? aka: Asthma.
We really should have known though, with things working against my wheezing little man. According to many studies done by many smart people, c section babies are at a higher risk to develop asthma because they don't have to work as hard to be born (meaning, they dont have to be contortionists and squeeze their poor bodies out of a tiny, tiny hole...lucky ducks, right?). C section babies also have a harder time breastfeeding and have a higher risk of allergies in the first year [but thats a different topic for a different time...my poor kids!]. Also, Spidey's mom has asthma...I mean, I have asthma. :) So his genes are working against him.
So an asthmatic little man we have and so be it. Breathing treatments, here we come! Trust me, I know how he feels. I grew up on these things. Yuck!
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