Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Mama, I wish I had an extra eyelash right now. If I did I'd wish that no one would ever be sick.
I'm sorry I threw up in the car.
I should have known on Saturday when Addie took a two hour nap on the couch that it was a bad omen. Instead I decided to enjoy a few hours of relative quiet more or less to myself (someone else was chattering away in her crib not sleeping). I should have know that my little ball of energy doesn't nap in the middle of a Saturday.
As I tucked Miss Addie in Sunday night she said Mommy, my tummy really hurts. I brushed it off, sang her a song and headed downstairs. A few hours later I popped my head in her room before turning in for the night. She was serenely snuggled up with Doggie, Rose and a half dozen of her other friends.
I drifted to sleep making a mental list of the things I wanted to accomplish this week: workout, grocery shop, finish a few sewing projects, clean my closet, scrub the bathrooms, pack for Pittsburgh.
Jess! I need you to wake up! I need you!
Andy already had Addie in the bathroom, holding a trash can, her soiled jammies discarded. Her bedroom emanated the sickening smell of vomit, sheets all in a tangle, a bright red splash of throw up in the middle of her bed.
Without words we divided and conquered our midnight crisis. Andy brought the soiled bedclothes and stuffed animals down to the laundry. I started scrubbing the mattress, fumigating the room. He got her in a warm shower; I found and cleaned up more vomit. Doggie was gently scrubbed by hand.
By one o'clock Addie was tucked back in, Andy was back in bed, and I was making camp on a five year old's bedroom floor.
At five a.m. we were back up sick with tears and confusion. My camp became a bedroll for two with snuggles and a softly read princess story. The rest of the day was similar - lots of sleep interrupted to be sick.
Sick in the car on the way to Brenna's check up.
Sick in the doctor's office.
Sick after the Popsicle suggested by our beloved doctor.
Mama, I'm sorry I threw up on carpet. I couldn't hear what my body was telling me. I'm so sorry Mommy; you're the best Mama I know.
My usually very spunky animated kindergartner spent the day next to a bucket, sucking on ice cubes, snuggled into the corner of the couch, mostly sleeping. At bedtime she insisted on sleeping on the floor because she was afraid of getting sick in bed. As I read one of her new favorites Every Cowgirl Needs Dancing Boots she drifted back off to sleep, snuggled up with a few of her friends who were unblemished from the night before.
By 9:45 she was in our room burning up.
By 2:15 I was snuggled next to her moaning little self on our floor bedroll. She woke up a few times still feverish and sweaty.
This morning she slept in - her usual sparkle is missing. She is all long limbs and feverish skin, stretched out on the couch dozing and zoning out to Disney. Tiny sips of water and a few bites of toast are all she wants. My poor, sweet, girl.
Mom, I just don't feel very much like me. I feel like someone I don't even know at all.
Another day is planned on the couch, her resting while I disinfect everywhere else.