There is such a thing as too much fun and I have just about reached that point. Last night, while Kyle was at a gala honoring his boss and I was watching Bride Wars with my mom, sister, sisters-in-law and August, my little girl was hanging out with my dad, getting sicker.

We had faithfully been giving her tylenol and motrin every 3 hours and suddenly, her temp just wouldn't behave. As I drove her home, her little face bright red, her eyes at half mast, head lolling to the side, I immediately called Kyle and said, Get Home Now. When I checked her at home, her temp was 103.4 and that was after she'd just had her Motrin dose which usually works pretty quickly.

She was really not feeling good. When Kyle got home, I'd managed to get all of us ready for bed and Brooklyn was moaning under the covers, asking for her Daddy. He immediately swept her up in his arms, his eyes leaping to mine when he felt how hot she was. I cringed and nodded. She wasn't due for another dose of medicine for another few hours. The Braun ear thermometer was practically welded to our hands now and was in and out of her ear so frequently we might have strapped it to her head. And the numbers would not go down. As my heartrate jumped with each new number, I finally leapt off the bed and ran a lukewarm bath. Shivering and crying, she stood there while we tried to bring her temp down. Still no luck. I was on the phone with the exchange trying to get our doc to call us in seconds. The second hand slowly ticked past as I anxiously waited, watching for my phone dial to light up indicating an incoming call. Almost 30 minutes later, it did. Praise God, our doc was on call and he knew Brooklyn's situation. He said keep doing what we were doing, sounded like her bronchitis might have become the flu. And if she wasn't better tomorrow, give him another call.

About 20 minutes later, nearing midnight, I hung up the phone with my parents, asking them to pray for us. We re-checked B's temp and it was 104.9. Adrenaline surged through my body and I looked at Kyle. To the ER. NOW. I called my parents, they concurred. I called the medical exchange again and told the doc we were headed to the ER. He said he'd see us there.

Holding my shivering baby in my arms and trying to console my other littler baby, August, who was unsure why he was being forced to move from his warm spot on my bed and strapped into his car seat, we sped to the ER. My lips didn't stop moving - praying for God to heal my baby, just saying the name Jesus over and over. There is power in that name. I know it. I believed God was in control, but passivity is not in my nature and the only thing I could do, actively and physically, was to voice my fears and pray like my baby's life depended on it!

My parents met us at the ER to hold August in the waiting room and to bring me some food. Turns out all this activity had made me forget to eat and I was shivering from adrenaline rush and low blood sugar. A few bites of a grilled chicken sandwich and some sips of Coke later, I was new woman. Thank you, Mom and Dad!!! Apparently, having grown kids doesn't mean you never spend late nights at the ER, huh?

At 2:45 am, we were walking out the ER doors, having a confirmed diagnosis of RSV. Chest x-rays showed no change in Brooklyn's lungs, still swollen bronchioles. A nose swab ruled out the flu and confirmed RSV. Hopefully, this would be our worst day of it.