I talked to my mother long distance on the phone today. She was babysitting my nephew when I heard him cough through the phone. It made me smile and reminded me of this memory: My 9-month-old nephew, Zach, stayed with us for a month last summer with his mom and older brother. At the time, Zach, or Doodle as we call him, was just learning some precious new tricks, like where his nose was and how to dance when he hears music. With his brother around (being older, also adorable, and quite demanding of our attention), Doodle was always content, laid back, and pretty self-entertained for a baby. He was quite literally the sweetest, roundest, blonde-haired ball with arms and legs ever to crawl about the earth. One day, he developed a cold, complete with runny nose and slight cough. I unknowingly developed a habit of making a fuss over him every time he finished a coughing fit. It was something like a high-pitched bout of, "Oh my sakes! Poor little Doodle, goodness gracious!"