Par for the Course

I just thought I should add a quick update.

Beckett seems to be running at about 98%. He seems fine except for the runny nose. He's going about 90 miles a minute, into everything. Yesterday he scared the bejeezus out of us. Thankfully, Brendan is an exceptionally good brother and a tattletale who knows when to call in the big guns by declaring, It's an EMERGENCY!

So, what happened, you ask? Good Lord! Beckett figured out how to open the dishwasher by bouncing against the door until it falls open. So, he did this while I was upstairs, and took out a giant carving knife. And carried it from the kitchen to the living room, which involves coming down a step. A step he had fallen down earlier in the day.

When Brendan called me to come, I thought the emergency might be that Beckett was spilling juice, his new favorite activity. But something in the tone made me run downstairs. I'm feeling like a bad mom even though they were only alone a few minutes. It just never occurred to me that he'd open the dishwasher.

Brendan managed to be our hero in spite of still feeling sick. I had to pick him up early from school Friday because he was not feeling well. I'm really worried since he has been sick for two weeks now.

My ear infection is only marginally better. It doesn't hurt constantly, just some of the time. But I still can't hear and it feels like I have a carrot or a sock or rocks or something stuffed inside. Still, I didn't let the fact that I'm taking three medicines (my kitchen countertop looks like an old lady lives here!) stop me from going to a birthday party for three of my girlfriends. It was a very low-key cocktail party at one of the girls' homes, but it was the first time I'd been out around adults who weren't doctors and nurses in over a week. it was very nice. And the three glasses of Pinot Noir I drank gave me exactly the false sense of well-being I needed to make me forget my ear infection for a few minutes.

Today, Brendan is running a fever again, but seems to feel better after a does of Motrin.

Keep your fingers crossed for me that he gets better and the rest of us also continue to improve.

And keep your fingers crossed that Scott doesn't get sick. He has a show on March 27. Speaking of which, if you're in Atlanta, listen to Dave FM for a radio spot for that show....The Lizardmen with Special Guest, Scott Downes. It's a show at 1five0. I just thought it was pretty cool!

Breathe

No profound insight or deep meaning today. Just a quick update.

Brendan has been sick since last Monday. Fever of 103, general malaise. Doctor said it was a virus, he'd be better in 48 hours. Ha! He's still sick.

I started coughing a day or two later. Beckett awoke yesterday at 4 a.m. with the croup. I took him in to the pediatrician who determined he wasn't oxygenating. His oxygen level was in the 80s, so she insisted he be transported by ambulance to the ER so he could be on oxygen. Brendan and I rode along. Spent 8 hours in the ER before he was admitted. He has to stay again tonight.

I was coughing like crazy last night and having sharp pains in my ribs and feel like I have a weight on my chest. Saw my doctor 30 minutes ago who told me I have a sinus infection, bronchitis and walking pneumonia. Oh, yeah. And an ear infection. Fun stuff.

So, now I'm going to the grocery, to pick up my three prescriptions, and head back to the hospital to relieve my mother-in-law.

Say some prayers for us that we all recover quickly.

Sick Bed of Dawnulainn

What is up with all the sickness?

I have gone from being one of the healthiest people I know with the healthiest kid to someone in our house being sick constantly. I guess it started roughly a year ago. Almost exactly a year ago when a plague descended upon our house. Exhaustion from having a newborn and post-partum depression had taken their toll and I ended up with a sinus infection that spread to my eyes, the flu, and an outbreak of fever blisters. I remember the timing of it because it was the week before Brendan's birthday party and I was so worried we would have to cancel the party because I was so sick. Brendan's party is next week. Thankfully this year it's very low key. I'm not worried that I have to prove to him that we still love him even though he has a new sibling.

So, I'm just going to try and rest as much as I can the next few days and accept that the basement playroom will not be ready before the party and deal with it.

Scott is out at CVS right now getting me some Theraflu and then is going to stop at the Thai place to get me some super-spicy curry. Hopefully, that combination opens my sinuses up and we can move forward from there.

And hopefully Brendan's cough improves. I've been up with him the last three nights and think I caught this last night when he coughed so hard he threw up on me. At least I felt fine until sometime around 10 a.m. today when it all started going downhill fast.

So, on that note...Goodnight y'all. My food and Theraflu just arrived.

Crazy

For anyone who doubts that lack of sleep can make you crazy, I give you the events of this morning as an example.

Admittedly, my lack of sleep is exacerbated by a level of stress I haven't felt in a while. However, not having gotten more than 4 hours or so a night of uninterrupted sleep since last Thursday has certainly made me a little crazy.

Anyway, as Scott was leaving for work this morning, suddenly the thought of being home alone in my messy house with two sick children who will whine a lot because they are sick was just more than I could stand and I ran out of the house behind Scott for one last hug, in tears, begging him to take me with him. I was only half joking.

It hasn't been as bad as I thought it might. I did have to fight Brendan a little on the albuterol and benadryl, but eventually got him to take them. Both boys napped for a couple of hours and I did a little work that needed to be done for my new client, and took care of a couple of items for Beckett's birthday party and now this.

Hopefully things don't fall apart in the afternoon.

That Was Your Mother

With both boys in bed (although admittedly, Beckett, who is cutting two new bottom teeth, is whining in his sleep and keeping me on edge in case he needs me to pick him up), Scott not home, and dinner in the oven, I thought I'd have something amazing to say.

Yet, the only thing that springs to mind is the fact that I realize I have achieved the ability to psychoanalyze myself. I'm guessing most of us have that ability but may not realize it.

Tonight, I was beating myself up for getting angry and frustrated with Brendan for refusing to take his medicine. He has the croup and the doc prescribed an Albuterol inhaler for him. She also told me to give him Benadryl for his runny nose and to help him sleep so that I could get some sleep after three nights in a row with barely any of the sweet stuff. Yesterday and last night he amazed me with how readily he let me administer both medications plus Tylenol Meltaways. He did better than he has ever done at taking medicine. He slept most of the night in his own bed, then after being awake for about an hour or so, came into our bed around 4 a.m. and slept there until 9 a.m. When he awoke he was a little whiny, but after a bath, he was practically his normal chipper, super active self. And he wasn't coughing. Yay.

It all fell apart about 5 p.m.

So, now, picking up where I left off last night at 8:19, I have been awake for most of the time since then. Scott got home, we had dinner, talked a bit, and then all hell broke loose. Teething baby awoke around 10 and was up until midnight at which point Brendan woke up crying and was awake every hour from that point on until 6:00 a.m. when he finally went to sleep and slept until almost 9 a.m.

Much of the night was spent battling him to use the inhaler and take his Benadryl. I was, at one point, wondering where he got all the extra arms and legs he was punching me with as I attempted to administer the inhaler. And I was furious.

I realized.... And this was the original point of my post...that Brendan's refusal to take medicine and his willingness to put up a physical fight infuriates me so much because it reminds me of my mother. She was, as I have mentioned before, a juvenile diabetic and had been on insulin since she was 13 years old. When I was 9, I learned how to give her shots because she would sometimes just decide she was tired of taking her insulin. I learned how to force open her mouth and give her sugar or orange juice when she was in insulin shock (low blood sugar). I learned that a knee in the chest can hold a person down, pretty much, unless she's so outraged and messed up by her illness that she doesn't recognize her own daughter and throws her to the ground. I learned that if you can tell that's about to happen, a knee to the throat can stop it.

What I learned last night as I was about to put my knee into my son's chest to force him to take his medicine is how angry I still am at my mom for being such a fucking brat and baby all her life. Just take the goddamned medicine. Nobody cares that you wish you were normal. So do the rest of us. Fuck you.

Just try to be normal. Is it that fucking hard? Take your goddamned medicine and don't expect your child to be the adult! Nobody wants to be sick and if you just take the fucking medicine you can be relatively normal. You jackass.

And so, I realized last night that a lot of my frustration and anger at Brendan for not getting with the program has roots that run long and deep. I just want him to take his medicine and be normal. I want him to learn that there are rules and that if you just follow the rules, life is so much easier. And happier. For everyone.

I got really angry at my Uncle T. a couple of weeks ago because I told him some Brendan anecdote and he said that Brendan sounded just like my mom. I was so mad I wanted to hang up on him, but I love him so I didn't. But last night I saw it for myself, whether it's really there or imagined from too little sleep. And it just makes me angrier. I've never wanted to break someone's spirit before, but I cannot tolerate a child who is as selfish and self-centered as my mother was. My grandparents never dared to break her; my grandfather spoiled and coddled her because she was sick. And I paid for that. I'll be damned if I'm going to let this child turn out the way that she did.

Sick or not, he's going to start towing the line.

Swan Dive

Here's how my week's shaping up...

Two sick kids. One wheezing and requiring breathing treatments a couple of times a day. One with a fever I can't get down.
One house in need of major, major cleaning. A dinner party we're supposed to host on Saturday night. A deadline looming on Friday. A new job I was supposed to have a final interview for today. A husband with a major deadline of his own at work who can't afford to get sick right now. And three nights in a row with little sleep.

I guess it could be worse.

At least we have Duke basketball tonight. Whoo-hooo.

Crazy Love

I've never been one to come to the aid of friends who were throwing up. I've always been a bit weak of the stomach when it comes to bodily functions. In college, I never held anyone's hair out of her face while she hurled and I never expected anyone to do that for me. Although, I don't think it was necessary more than once or twice anyway.

Blood doesn't bother me in the least. But I don't do vomit very well. I got my fill taking care of my mom and grandmother. It seems like my mom was constantly getting sick because of some diabetic complication or the other and my grandmother died of stomach cancer so she was sick a lot the last few months of her life. I took a several week leave from high school to help care for her because we couldn't afford a nurse. I've dealt with blood, vomit, bloody vomit, poop, feeding tubes, and all kinds of crazy sick-room gross-outs.

Still, I've found myself getting furious with people for vomiting near me and found myself embarrassed by getting sick near others.

Yet, I've discovered, as I'm sure any of you who are parents have, that the nature of vomit totally changes when the person getting sick is your child. I never, in a million years, would have imagined that someone could not only get sick near me, but ON me and I wouldn't want to throw them through a window. But it has happened.

Friends, on Saturday night my darling baby boy was sick. Friday night, he developed a high fever, but had no other symptoms. On Saturday, he still seemed like he felt a little puny, but was otherwise fine and the fever was gone. Unfortunately, it all went down hill after he went to bed on Saturday night.

About 10 p.m., he woke up crying. When I went into his room, I knew instantly that he had thrown up because the lovely aroma hit me in the face as soon as I opened his door. Poor little guy.

So, I took him out of his crib, got a tub of water, and gave him a sponge bath on his changing table. Then, as I was carrying him over to his dresser to get some fresh jammies, he threw up all over the front of my sweater. I was calm. No problem. It's all part of being a mommy, I told myself. I hugged him and told him it was okay and he'd be fine.

After getting the jammies out, I took him back to the changing table to start again. I decided to take off my yucky, soaking wet sweater and t-shirt and finish the job in my bra and jeans. Everything's going fine and I've got him clean and ready to go. Then, just as I lift him up so I can get his pjs on him, the poor little dude hurls on me again. This time directly onto flesh and straight down into the waist of my jeans. I am, at this point, covered in hot, lumpy, orange baby vomit from my neck to my groin. Fun stuff on a Saturday night.

Somehow, Beckett managed not to get a drop on himself, so I carried him and his clean pjs downstairs to Scott and took a quick shower and put on my pjs. I was gone about 10 min. and in that time, Beckett managed not to throw up on his dad. So, I settle in on the couch with the sick groggy baby on my lap. I've never seen him so sad. He's always such a happy guy and usually so independent. It was unusual for him to want to fall asleep on me, but that's just what he was doing, when all of a sudden, he threw up again. On my nice, comfy, clean pajamas.

It's just strange and amazing to me, though, that my overriding emotions were sympathy and sadness. I just wanted to make him feel better and figure out why he was sick. When I've had to deal with sickies in the past, who weren't my children, even if I felt bad for them, I've always been kind of annoyed even if it wasn't their fault they were ill. Who knew a mother's love could abide such an abundance of gross?

I guess I do now.