"Poor Little Dy!"

That's what Jake kept saying today at Max's pediatrician visit.

For weeks Max has had congestion and it seems like I can never tell when one cold ends and the next begins. But a few days ago he started wheezing and coughing a lot. I finally decided to take him to the doctor when he had eye drainage and a fever...turns out that he has an ear infection and bronchiolitis. (which I guess is really just an infection that travelled to his lungs) So he's on antibiotics and breathing treatments with a nebulizer (sp?) for a week -- completely new to me.

The real reason for this entry is to blog my older son's sweet concern for his brother. Max needed a treatment at the office and it turned out to be a 15-minute-long, screaming, wrestling match. We were both red-faced and sweating by the end. Max was immediately pushing away the mask (you know how he does, Mom) and hated to be forced into it. Jake didn't like the loud noise the machine made and was really worried about the "smoke" coming from Max's mask. (big fear of fire and smoke lately -- which is good I guess) He was panicky -- "no, no, no Mommy, don't put that on him - he doesn't like it." In an attempt to distract/comfort Max, we sang the ABC song and Jesus Loves Me over and over. Jake had the most concerned face and kept telling Max, "it's otay" and "sh-sh-sh" like I do. Sweet, protective big brother. It was neat to see that in him...