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!

Monthly Recap: What I learned in March 2011

Amber Strocel does a monthly recap and has invited others to play along and link up. So here's what I learned in March:

1.  My husband can rock a rainbow butterfly bag like no body's business.

2.  Monthly trips to the aquarium provide a yardstick for Lilah's development.  On our most recent visit, the changes that had taken place since our last visit were striking.  She got so much more from the exhibits - exclaiming in excitement over the "pishies" (fishies), "boggies" (froggies) and "boogas" (Belugas).  One thing that hasn't changed?  She's still convinced that the otters are kitties that swim.


Watching the sea "kitties" with Daddy

3. Writing a letter to myself as a brand new mother was extremely therapeutic and sparked some valuable discussion.

4.  Nap battles are not fun for anyone.  However, if losing the battle means a short catnap next to this sweet sleeping soul, I can be okay with that.

Lilah finally napping - in Mommy's bed

5.  My kid is a puker.  Anytime there is a bug going around, we can assume she's going to catch it.  And just when we think she's all better, we can expect a mini-relapse.  But according to the comments I received, the mini-relapse is actually fairly common.  Wish I knew why that happens and how to prevent it!

6.  I'm not a fan of guns but I do enjoy a good gun show once in awhile.
7. I finally understand what all the fuss around smart phones is about.  Oh, and Hipstamatic?  Dripping in pure, undiluted awesomesauce.  Retrolicious!

8.  Lilahbility: fashion icon.

9.a) It takes over an hour to clean a public pool that has been pooped in. 9.b) The technical term for poop in the pool is "a fouling."  9.c)  There's only so long a toddler can spend on the ramp into the hot tub.  (In case you're wondering, Lilah was not the fouler and we were thankfully not in the pool when said fouling actually occurred.)

10.  When you walk down the street with two small toddlers holding hands, you are sure to get a whole lot of smiles and exclamations of "awwwww!"

Walking down Main Street with her boyfriend

Tell me, what did you learn in March?

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)!

Survival

I've been MIA for a while. I've had my reasons. I feel as though I've been through a battle of epic proportions. And lived to blog about it (but just barely).

It all started Tuesday night with an episode of projectile vomiting (the vomiter being Lilah and the recipients being me, the high chair, the floor, the wall, the table....). I didn't realize her little tummy could possibly hold so much liquid. The Hubs and I divided and conquered - he quickly whisked Lilah away and deposited her directly into the bath while I dealt with the aftermath around her high chair. I was impressed with our efficiency and teamwork. When she made it through Tuesday night without further spewage, I figured we were in the clear.

Wednesday was spent dosing out Tylenol and trying to appease an extremely fussy and feverish baby. The only things she wanted to do that day were cuddle with me and sleep. And if you know anything about Lilah, you will know this is truly a departure from her usual personality. Normally I'm all, "Can I have a cuddle?" and she's all, "Let go of me, woman! Don't you know I have more important things to do than snuggling with you? If you wanted to feel loved and needed, you should have gotten a dog!" But on Wednesday she just wanted to curl up in my arms, suck her thumb, and play with (ie. pull out, a few painful strands at a time) my hair. Which would have been lovely, had I not needed to run to the bathroom every 15 minutes myself. I was "lucky" in that my stomach contents followed the "exit this way" sign, but still, not an enjoyable experience. TMI? Oh sorry, I thought nothing was off limits between me and my best friend, the internet.

I managed not to call the Hubs and ask him to come home early from work that day, but it was touch-and-go for a while there. Normally in this type of situation I wouldn't have any qualms about requesting (demanding!) that he come home and help me out, but he was leaving town the next day and needed to get things wrapped up at work. So Lilah and I hunkered down and survived. Turns out that's all we did for the next four days - just survive.

On Thursday morning, bright and early, the Hubs left for his friend's bachelor party in Vegas and Lilah and I seemed to be getting better, but on Friday night, unbeknowst to me, there was another puking episode. Lilah had already gone to bed by that point and somehow managed to throw up in her crib and then go right back to sleep. Seriously, this kid has gone from a crappy sleeper to a sleeping champion! Remember the toothbrush incident and how badly I felt about that? Multiply that by about a million! Nothing feeds that little voice in the back of your head saying, "You're a crap mother" like your child sleeping in a puddle of their own vomit all night. (Ummmm... and I probably shouldn't have let the kid eat that little piece of pesto pizza our neighbour was offering up, either. Oh, and those blueberries at dinner time? Also not a good idea. But she seemed to be feeling so much better!)

*Coincidentally, I suspect the Hubs and his friends (particularly the groom-to-be) may also have been sleeping in pools of their own vomit, but in their case it was self-inflicted, so they get no sympathy. But since we're on the topic of alcohol-induced vomiting, you should check out this Stomach Party bit by comedian Jim Breuer. It's one of my all-time faves.*

Saturday morning: more puking. Saturday afternoon and evening: managed to keep breastmilk and water down. I mistakenly thought this was the last of it. Sunday morning: more puking. She was walking around when the barfing started, so the poor kid slipped backwards in her own barf and banged her head. A true comedy of errors. Maybe someday I will be able to laugh about that, but at the moment the thought of it breaks my heart.

Oh, and as if I wasn't getting bitch-slapped enough in the cleaning-up-puke department? I also discovered several patches of cat puke scattered about the house at random intervals throughout the weekend. "Awesome" doesn't even begin to cover it.

A visit to the walk-in clinic on Sunday morning was totally unenlightening and yet oddly reassuring - I hadn't missed anything, this was a tummy bug and it would pass. The fever was gone and she wasn't dehydrated (as evidenced by the heart-wrenching tears shed on the doctor's table). No mass in the belly. Just a sucky little sicky. Exactly as I suspected, but good to hear it from someone with an actual medical degree.

It's now Monday morning and things appear to be getting better. Still sucky, still tired, but 24 vomit-free hours have passed, and the Hubs is home from Vegas. Right now, I feel like I do after conquering the Grouse Grind: it sucked, but now that it's over, I feel proud of myself for surviving and a more than a little virtuous.

And Hubs? You owe me. Big time!

(What's that, feet? You need a massage? I'm sure the Hubs would be happy to oblige while I watch The Bachelorette or some other ridiculous drivel on TV and eat this giant tub of ice cream. Wouldn't you honey?)