The Invention of Lying Down Games

A couple of weeks ago I had a really rough bout of the stomach flu.  For just over 24 hours, all I could do was sleep, toss my cookies, or writhe around in bed with horrible stomach pains and moan.  I am not exaggerating.  And it took me the better part of a week once that part was over to really feel 100% back to my old self.

In that time, I had to get through a few (mercifully short-lived) times when I was alone with my kids and feeling ill or exhausted.  Enter the invention of lying. down. games.

Through my delirious haze, I somehow managed to convince my kids that it would be really fun to pretend Mommy was a sleeping dragon under the blanket on the couch, and they had to tiptoe around the dragon's cave.  If they were too noisy, the dragon would wake up and make them run laps from the living room to the kitchen.  (In previous, more energetic iterations of the this game, the Mommydragon would tickle them as punishment for their noisiness, but this time the Mommydragon didn't even have the strength for that.) 

Shockingly, they ate it up.  Lilah is still asking to play this game, and my inner Mommydragon is only too happy to oblige.  I'm sure it won't be much longer before she figures out how little effort it requires on my part.  But hey, as long as they're safe and having fun, it passes as parenting, right?

Have you invented any good lying down games I can add to my repertoire for the next time I find myself solo parenting through illness?

Swingin' In the Rain(boots)

The only thing better than an afternoon at the park is sharing it with a friend.


Unfortunately, Lilah also shared her hand, foot, and mouth virus with this cutie and his second birthday party had to be postponed!

(Sorry, buddy.)

Still, they do make quite the adorable duo, don't you think?

On Being an Adult

We've had a pretty rough few days chez Lilahbility.  Lilah brought a little something extra home from daycare the other day, and it turned out to be hand, foot, and mouth disease.  A couple days of fever followed by a blistery rash on the hands and feet and in and around the mouth.  While it is never fun to have a  sick child on one's hands, I have to say (without hyperbole) that Thursday was one of the most difficult days in my two-year parenting career so far.  I'm talking challenging and intense in the same way the newborn days are, and it followed a near-sleepless night, so it felt all too similar.

It is occasions like these (and sometimes random occasions as well) when I can hardly believe that I am really an adult; that I am old enough and responsible enough to be in charge of another person, let alone a small child who is ill and relying on me for her every need.  In my mind, I am still 18, just barely an adult.

But somehow I was trusted with the responsibility of taking my prenatal vitamins, growing a small human inside of me, getting her out safely (with a little help, obviously), nourishing her, nurturing her, keeping her warm and safe, and providing her with opportunities to learn and grow. 

And now here I am; the parent, the one in charge, trying to pacify a cranky toddler with a nasty virus and failing miserably.  And just for a moment, that sneaky "How did I get here?" feeling creeps up, bringing with it the self-doubt, the feeling that I might not be able to handle this, that maybe someone else would do a much better job, be more patient, hold it together better.

But the truth is, we got through it.  We always get through it.  And I helped get her through it.  I administered medications, fed her, made sure she drank enough fluids, rocked her, read to her, and restrained myself from strangling her when she sent her bowl of applesauce sailing past my head.  Because I'm her mom, and that's what moms do.


Oh yeah, forgot to mention - I also let her have a creamsicle in the bath.
And the bruise on her forehead?  I did NOT cause that.
In one of her illness-induced rages, she slipped and banged her head on a sharp corner.
Talk about adding insult to injury!



Still, when Lilah has woken for the fifth time in one night screaming, "I WANT MY MOMMY!!!" at top of her lungs, I will admit to sometimes thinking, "You and me both, kid, you and me both."

Pusher

Lilah has been sick a lot this year.  Apparently a child's first year of daycare can do that.  There have been countless colds, several bouts of barfiness, and about eleventy million fevers. And that means a whole arsenal of pediatric drugs.  It's not that I love the idea of giving my child over-the-counter medicines, and I do try to avoid it where possible, but the fevers tend to make it a necessity.

And I have become an expert at getting her to take this medicine.  Even in her sleep.  Especially in her sleep.  I tiptoe silently across her room, grope blindly for her mouth, pry her lips apart, slip the syringe in, and push the plunger, delivering 8 hours' worth of sweet Advil peace to her feverish little body.  She has thus far retained the ability to suck in her sleep that infants are so famous for.  I wonder how much longer I have before she starts jolting awake during my attempts to drug her...?

Poor thing doesn't even know what hit her!

Barfy McPukerson

I have no idea how this happened, but it appears that I have somehow gave birth to a puker.  I, who can't even remember the last time I threw up, though I suspect it was alcohol-induced.  (Okay, typing that just triggered a flash-back.  It was my bachelorette party in 2007.)


I blame the Hubs, and his faulty, weak-stomached genes.  The guy can pretty much barf on command.  Which can be handy when you've had too much to drink and you know it's inevitable, but not so fantastic when you'd really like to avoid tasting that three bean salad or ill-advised breakfast burrito again.



Mommy, I don't feel so good!

You may recall the stomach bug I described last June?  Oh, and let's not forget the epic two-week long pukefest in December.  Well, now we have a new notch in our barfy belt.  The Hubs spent a recent Saturday night running from the bed to the bathroom, so I wasn't terribly surprised when Lilah followed suit the next morning and started ralphing all over our apartment.  No biggie, I thought, we've done this before.  It sucked, but this one appeared to be short-lived.  The Hubs was fine by breakfast time, and Lilah appeared to be all better by dinner.  And she was fine for a full 48 hours, but then randomly yakked all over the Hubs as he was putting her to bed on the following Tuesday night.  This follows the pattern from the past few illnesses too.  Sick as a dog for the standard length of time, then fine for two or three days, and then barfy again.  What gives?

Does your kid ever recover from a stomach bug only to relapse a few days later?  I'd love to know whether this is normal or something we should add to the list of what makes our li'l Lilahbility unique and special, and well, a bit of a liability!

Vomitous

*This blog contains graphic descriptions of a family dealing with a nasty stomach virus.  Reader discretion is advised*

Hi, it's me.  I haven't been around much lately, I know.  There's a good reason for that.

What's that smell, you ask?  Sorry.  It's kinda been following me around since last Monday.  It might be the smell of the contents of our fridge rotting since it's barely been touched in the past week.  Or it could be vomit.

Lilah brought us home a little present last Monday.  It was... (in best Price is Right voice) a lovely stomach bug!!!  And when Miss Lilah has a tummy ailment, she doesn't rest until all the contents of her stomach are strewn across our apartment.  Oh, and she also marks the hallway and front steps of our apartment building as her territory too, just for good measure.

So that was the beginning of last week.  I stayed home with her on Tuesday, and the Hubs took the day off to look after her on Wednesday.  It was kind of a relief to go to work on Wednesday knowing that she was starting to turn the corner and her daddy was looking after her.  And once I had showered the vomit out of my hair, I was feeling pretty spiffy and ready to be a speech therapist again, as opposed to playing the role of barf-cleaner-upper I had on Tuesday. 

But apparently I started celebrating too soon.  My first appointment of the day?  An adorable four-year-old boy.  He and his mother rush in, slightly distraught at being 10 minutes late due to traffic.  No sooner do they get in the door then he upchucks in the front entrance/waiting area.  While his mom is busy cleaning him up in the bathroom, someone has to deal with the chunks in the waiting room.  When I saw one of our admin staff members jump right in - with gloves on, of course - and it happened to be her birthday, poor woman - I strapped some gloves and got down to work too.  I'd been dealing with it for the past two days anyway.  But that's when I started to suspect that the vomit might be following me around.

Lilah seemed to be recovering, and when neither the Hubs or I had come down with it by Saturday, I figured we were in the clear.  One thing I have learned in my 17 months as a parent is that, as soon as you think you are in the clear for anything, the universe will mock you.  Sunday night I started feeling a little woozy and achy and by midnight I knew I would be calling in sick on Monday.  I may gloss over the details here, because nobody wants to hear about the inner workings of my digestive system, but let me just tell you, this was one nasty bug.  And then of course Lilah, who had been okay for four whole days, randomly puked all over the Hubs after he picked her up from daycare that afternoon.

My many warnings to the Hubs to eat bland food in case he, too, should come down with this horrid bug went unheeded.  The man thinks he is invincible.  Seriously, any reference to illness or injury has him assuring me that he is Wolverine of the X-men.  Sure enough, 4:30 am on Wednesday saw him sprinting to the bathroom gagging and sorely regretting his decision to eat nothing but hummus and chocolate for dinner on Tuesday.

Now it is the weekend again and the Hubs and I are back to gorging ourselves on the rich food of the season.  Lilah, having actually learned something from the whole experience, is still studiously avoiding any food that happened to be in her tummy at the onset of each episode, which, let's be honest, was pretty much all her regular foods and stand-by meals.  Which means she is currently essentially living off mac 'n' cheese and breast milk.

And now, almost two weeks after the whole debacle started, I'm finally starting to shake the vomit smell from my nostrils.  Sweet baby Jesus, I think I can smell the candy canes and gingerbread again!

Got any vomit stories you'd like to share?  Tell me in the comments, and don't worry if it's gross -  I have a strong stomach (most of the time)!