One good thing about grandpa-hood, even if the kid is under my roof

Things are more amusing with that extra degree of distance.

Case in point: Younger Daughter has been very concerned about the baby over the last few days. The baby occasionally makes a wheezing, gasping noise -- like the breathing gears have slipped for a moment -- but she recovers quickly enough. But yesterday, she didn't recover very fast at all. The baby strung together a series of gasps, enough to send Younger Daughter into almost a pre-panic mode. (You know -- what's that number for 911 again?) Younger Daughter picked up the baby -- and got covered with baby barf for her troubles.

"Something obviously went down the wrong pipe," I told her.

"I suppose," Younger Daughter said, "but I think she's catching a cold, too."

Younger Daughter continued on this catching-cold theme well into the evening yesterday. She asked Long Suffering Spouse -- "does her head feel warm?"

"Well, only because she's been snuggled up against you, yes." But Long Suffering Spouse agreed that the baby sounded a bit congested.

And that might explain why she had such a terrible night last night -- apparently the baby kept Younger Daughter and Olaf up for much of the night.

I say apparently, of course, because I managed to sleep through most of it.

At least I think I did -- but, somehow, I'm still very tired today.

Today was the day marked for baby's first shots. I said I didn't have a shot until I was four or five, and then hardly any after that until I was in college. I think watermelon shots were all the rage then, but I don't recall what was in them. Long Suffering Spouse and Younger Daughter each tapped a dissatisfied foot at me. That's when you can see how closely those two are related -- when they are expressing identical disapproval of me.

The baby was wheezing still this morning as she was being readied for her trip to the pediatrician. Long Suffering Spouse was trying to get ready to leave the house and Younger Daughter wanted her help with something in the kitchen so the child was left with me for a few moments and I heard the wheeze.

At the pediatrician's office, the nurse said she heard some congestion sounds from the baby, too.

But the nurse left the room before the doctor came in.

And when the doctor came in, the baby was the glowing picture of perfect health. Not a wheeze, not a cough, not a sniffle, not a gurgle out of place. Eyes bright, stoic acceptance of the needle and all. "The doctor thinks I'm just a hysterical mother," Younger Daughter told me on the phone as she drove home.

"Get used to it," I told her. "No kid ever performs on command, especially when mommy or daddy wants them to."

That used to really bug me when I was the daddy. Now, however, it seems so much more amusing....