You’re hot then you’re cold
On Friday I had my first experience with projectile vomit. Now I understand what the doctor meant when I kept bringing in my infant saying, “He’s throwing up! There’s something wrong!” and the pediatrician kept saying “No no no, that’s nothing. Trust me, you’ll know.” AND NOW I KNOW. Boy do I know. And since I would like to keep all my lovely readers, I won’t even tell you about the diapers. Let’s just say whatever bug is inside my poor little munchkin his body REALLY wants it out.
Since Baby Evan is still on uncertain terms with the sippy cup, I spent most of Saturday trying to force liquids down his throat. He doesn’t like nursing when he’s sick (which I think is ridiculously ironic – isn’t the whole point of nursing that it’s supposed to be comforting?) so he’s not getting much of anything in his system. I’m terrified he’s going to get dehydrated and end up in the hospital where the doctors will all frown at me and say “What do you mean he doesn’t eat food? What do you mean he doesn’t take a bottle? You can’t possibly have nursed him every feeding for the last 10 months.” Because even I will admit that sounds a little crazy. True, but crazy. Plus I haven’t yet figured out how to get Pedialyte into my boobs so the best I can do for a vomiting baby is a little juice in a sippy of water and hope he accidentally swallows some of it while he chews on it. He’s still having wet diapers so I’m not panicked yet but if things don’t improve by tomorrow morning I’ll have to make an appointment.
In true motherhood fashion, just when the baby starts feeling better I get catch the same horrible germs. Again, I’ll do you a favor by skipping specifics but lets just say the symptoms might be even more unpleasant in a non-diaper wearing adult. I managed to wait until the babe was asleep before collapsing in a miserable, feverish heap Saturday night but just barely. My temperature fluctuated so much I felt like a Katy Perry song, first lying on the floor in my bra complaining I was burning up and then huddling under the blankets begging E to turn up the heat. I spent most of the night lying on the bathroom floor because the cold felt good on my face (uh, and also so I could throw up in a more appropriate place than the kitchen). A whole Sunday of misery brings me to this morning, where I’m getting by on a diet of Mountain Dew and several gallons of water, trying to stay awake while I watch the baby torture pet the cat. My parenting today is going to be more “keep the baby alive” and less “stimulate his mind and development”, but I’m ok with that. Even Super Moms need sick days.