I’m kidding. The dog didn’t die. It just feels like the kind of day I had yesterday, you know?
That was cruel, I’m sorry. I won’t do that to you again.
I want so badly to complain about the less than ordinary day that OBaby and I had yesterday, but what good is a whiny 1500 word blog post, really? None. Instead, I will just give a qualitative blow by blow and I’ll let the day complain for itself. Mostly, though, I hope you are laughing as you read this because heaven knows I already am.
(The following program contains vomit. Reader discretion is advised)
Thursday, the twenty-fifth of February, two-thousand and ten:
My sweet, sick little munchkin decided that his day started at 6:30am. I was pretty sure that it didn’t, but also unsure of how much say I had in the matter. DanO had not quite left for work yet when OBaby woke, so he went in and rocked him back to sleep and left a little late.
I was so thankful that I fell asleep and wasn’t even woken by him trying to say goodbye (if you know me, you know that that right there was the work of the Holy Spirit because I couldn’t even sleep through a stop light changing colors in college).
But at 7:15, about 20 minutes after being rocked back to sleep, I was woken from my stone-cold slumber to sweet baby bear deciding that now was when he was going to start his day.
Not if my breasts had anything to say about it.
I tried, unsuccessfully, to nurse him back to sleep next to me in bed for a good 45 minutes. I conceded, got up, and loved on OBaby for about 20 minutes, who was mostly happy despite his clogged nose and killer cough, until he fell asleep in the ring sling (now: 8:20). O good gravy, right? I laid him down for a nap and tossed out any hope of leaving to my Bible study at 9:10.
The boy awoke at 9:05. I decided to make a break for it. We waltzed into Bible study (by way of a drive-through coffee shop) only 10 min late (or so?). I wore him in the Moby for the entire time, which is pretty much what we do around home these (cuddly) days, anyway. Also, Beth Moore is both brilliant and hilarious. I want to be her when I grow up, southern accent and all.
Bible Study was so uneventful, in fact, that I was pretty sure we could go see Daddy for lunch. I nursed and changed OBaby before leaving the church, and the kid was fast asleep before I pulled out of the parking lot. I headed straight for DanO’s office and we sat in the car outside Chipotle until OBaby woke.
Lunch was spent juggling an overly-curious baby and a Carnitas burrito with guac (PS how expensive is guacamole going to get before someone calls an official boycott of Chipotle? What a racket I tell ya). O and I spent a good portion of the time being sour grapes to my husband, too. I think I was mad that it wasn’t Friday and that I got up at 7. I don’t know, whatever it was, it wasn’t his fault. I apologized profusely the entire ride back to his office for being so strangely grumpy.
(One of those times I would have blamed my period, but I haven’t seen her around for about a year and a half. So.)
On the drive home, the thought: “O! My Dad’s birthday next week!” was immediately followed by coming up with the most perfect gift for him ever (don’t you love it when that happens?). OBaby was still performing spectacularly despite the guacamole on his sleeve, so I decided we would head from lunch with DanO to the store where I would buy my Dad’s birthday present.
Again, baby bear slept for the entirety of the car ride, and again I sat in the parking lot until he woke. I unstrapped him from the car seat and began putting him into the Moby wrap to go into the store, and that is when I felt one of the most disgusting sensations I have ever had.
OBaby was getting quite sick all over me, himself, the Moby, and some on the car seat for good measure. I have not ever seen the kid throw up that much 2 hour old milk in my entire life. The smell was of equal grandeur. The smell that was now oozing down my shirt, bra, and heck I even found some on the top of my jeans. I held back a gag (which, you will note, was also the work of the Spirit. One time when we were dating, DanO tickled me in a fight over the shotgun seat of a friend’s car and I proceeded to vomit all over the Jewel-Osco parking lot. Aren’t you glad you’re still reading this?!).
OBaby was partially in the wrap already (thus the down-my-shirt action) so I pulled him out, looked at him, and he flopped his head down on my shoulder, asleep. So dead tired asleep. This didn’t feel right, so I put him gently (and still asleep) back into his car seat and set my car toward the doctor’s office.
I was seen with sufficient urgency that it calmed my heart (I had called on the way over), and it was determined fairly quickly that not one but both of OBaby’s ears were infected. That would explain the fever that I had seen get slightly higher each of the last 3 days. The throw up was more than likely caused by all of the nose and throat gunk that he’s been swallowing due to the head cold he had last week which turned into croup.
We were a mess. A sticky, smelly mess. The doctor was very informative, and I was actually encouraged by the fact that not 72 hours earlier we had been in the exact same room being told he had croup, at which time his ears were checked and found not to have been infected. I guess I’m kind of proud that my momtuition that brought me straight back to the doctor’s office was dead on.
The momtuition that let me go gallivanting all over the cities that day, though, was a little askew.
OBaby, again asleep in the car (bless his little hard working body), and I went straight to the pharmacy by our house to fill the prescription for an antibiotic and to pick up the pedialite suggested by the doctor to be given an ounce or two a day if vomiting persists.
Vomit vomit vomit. I don’t feel like I’ve typed that enough yet. Vomit.
After being told that it would take 20 to 30 minutes, I wandered the aisles of Walgreens for FIFTY-SEVEN minutes before hearing our name mispronounced over the intercom. I know the exact time because I sent a tweet text as I waited in line to drop-off the prescription.
In those 57 minutes, OBaby cuddled and slept off and on in the wreaking Moby Wrap (but what didn’t wreak at this point, really?) and I decided that I do in fact need a three-hole-punch. O, and a 1 inch barrel curling iron. And these 4 head bands.
$50 later ($12 of which was the anti-biotic) we were about ready to say goodbye to all of our new friends, the Walgreens employees, and get the freak home. Right then, DanO walked in the door of Walgreens, having seen my car still in the parking lot on his way home from work.
O sweet, sweet relief.
It was like a scene from a romantic movie where the woman is sitting in a restaurant and the man she loves but hasn’t seen for years and had no hope of reconnecting with walks down the sidewalk right in front of her. They meet eyes and are instantly sure of the fact that all will be right in their worlds once again.
Only in a Walgreens. And with vomit.
Surprisingly, he didn’t even mention the smell. He just hugged us, took OBaby and put him (sleeping) into his car seat, handed me the keys to his car, and we drove the 5 blocks home behind each other.
I love Daddies, don’t you?
The rest of the story includes stripping off my putrid clothes and starting them in the wash, having someone come to the door that we thought might be family or friends but it was the ACLU asking for our signatures (disappointing), and filling a bath only to kick myself for starting the washing machine minutes earlier.
The only thing worse than no bath after a day like that is a cold bath after a day like that.
But OBaby went to sleep early (surprise!) and DanO and I ordered take out. The remainder of the night was spent on the couch cuddling, watching ski jumping, and eating broccoli and beef.
I love husbands, don’t you?
PS: Is today Saturday? Because I feel like yesterday was worth two days, you know? Like after that day, I can just pass go, collect $200 and have it be the flogging weekend already, right? RIGHT?!