This morning, Maggie woke up breathing funny. I could tell on Friday that she was coming down with, most likely, what Hannah and I have/had. But Maggie was definitely worse this morning. Cork and Hannah were still sleeping, so I had to put on my big girl panties and figure out what to do about it. The thing about my big girl panties, they are always dirty or misplaced. Or maybe someone stole them out of the dryer in college and I just never noticed because they are pretty uncomfortable anyway. I felt like I needed to take her to the ER but I hate making decisions by myself. So I called the after-hours nurse. She said bring her to the ER. So I called my parents (and woke them up, sorry guys!). I wanted to make sure those nurses aren't just legally obligated to direct you to the ER for everything more severe than spit up and funny smelling poop. My mom said she could hear Maggie breathing over the phone and to take her in. So I took her in, and second guessed myself even as I sat in the waiting room (I texted Cork and said if the wait was longer than 30 minutes, I would bail). Turns out, it was a good decision to go and stay. They gave her some medicine and a breathing treatment and observed her for a few hours. Maggie is a strong kid, so it wasn't that stressful, I mostly wanted her to feel better sooner rather than later. The scariest part about the whole ordeal (besides the anticipation of the bill I will get in the mail), was when she fell asleep on the way home. For a second, I wondered if she was even still back there. Until I realized, uh? Where else would she be? She is a baby, not a diaper bag or cup of coffee. It isn't like I'd accidentally drive off with her on my roof. Poor Maggie is doing better but still sick. And hopefully just had her first and last breathing treatment ever. And I'm slowly learning to trust my parenting instincts.