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It was a good run. We got through the first two years and three weeks of Sam's life without any illness. Sure, he's had the odd cold or two, but he's never really been sick.

When other moms talk about staying up all night with a puking baby, I was sympathetic.

"Have a sick baby is no fun," I'd say, although I had no idea what I was talking about, because I've never actually had a sick baby.

My baby is so healthy, I’d think smugly. I must be doing something right.

Here's the number one rule of parenting: Never, ever get smug when something goes well. It will always -- and I mean always -- come back to bite you in the ass.

For example, when Sam first started on solids, he loved vegetables. Whatever I made him -- mashed peas, carrots, sweet potatoes, spinach -- he'd gobble it down and chortle for more. And I felt so incredibly smug about the whole thing, as I pureed up fresh veggies in the food processor and froze them in ice cube trays.

"Sam really just loves vegetables. I guess I just got lucky," I'd say. Okay, I didn’t actually say anything quite that obnoxious out loud, but I thought it.

Yeah, well. Fast-forward eighteen months. Now he'd literally rather eat lint off the floor then let a stalk of broccoli pass his lips.

And now he's sick. He has some sort of God-awful coughing, flemmy, achy, crabby, snotty, fever thing, and the poor little guy is just miserable. The only thing that seems to make him feel better is Sudafed and a Baby Einstein video marathon.

(Note to all of you mothers-to-be who are now smugly telling yourselves, I'll never let my precious baby watch television: Ha! Just you wait . . .)

Posted 26 September 2005 at 09:00 AM