Winter. A time of beautiful white snow, icicles glistening on pine trees, cozy warm fires and above all else, that horrible infectious thing called the flu. Well, maybe the flu. Who knows anymore. It could be H1N1 or the more commonly known Swine Flu. It could be a cold, hell, it could even be malaria for all I know. Either way, it just plain sucks. What I'm learning very quickly is that God has decided that not only am I going to be brought up to speed on what it's like to have 3 very young children, but I'm also going to be tested... many many times. Afterall, if I can't handle a flu bug or two, how will I handle things when these children of mine are all in their teen years and I'm fretting over driver licenses and teen pregnancies? I've already decided the kids aren't leaving the house, let alone dating, until they are at least 33.
You may be noticing with these unbelievably captivating blogs of mine (insert laugh) that there is a trend forming. Some blogs tell tales of an event that's really happened while others are merely posted for informational purposes. Those that are informational are basically just a really big rant where I've decided to put my two cents in on how I see a situation. Unfortunately for me, this particular blog is not the latter. Not only is this real but it's happening as we speak. Yip, frickin, ee.
Let's take you back to a few weeks ago when this all started. If you hadn't heard, know this... I gave birth to my third child all while dealing with a major cold-like virus and fever. Okay, so yeah, the fever might have been mild (nothing like blowing your birth story out of proportion... c'mon, everybody does it). Look, the point is this, I spent the weekend before I had Natalie dying on the couch and making whoever owns Kleenex a very rich man... or woman, I don't discriminate. Go women business owners.
Oh, and just before that, our poor sickly children missed out on a major family Christmas party. I know I know, given the fact that the kids were hacking up a lung I should have seen it coming when I came down with the sniffles. It's kind of like being on death row. You know the inevitable is coming and you dread it, but what are you going to do about it? When you have young kids it's just a well known fact that you WILL get sick. So anyway, the kids were sick, I was sick... I came home from the hospital after Natalie was born and was STILL freakin' sick. Ryan decided shortly thereafter that it was his turn. So he was sick. Then Livy caught a cold. Sick Sick Sick. Story of our lives. I was honestly just sick of the word "sick".
While all of this is going on I'm desperately trying to protect a newborn and everyone else who isn't... well... you know... LOOK, don't make me say the word again. You know where I'm going with this. So, this past Saturday morning, we're talking 3 am, Ryan hears pitiful cries over the monitor from Livy's room. Aww, poor thing. She lost her binky again. Ryan tiptoes over to her room, puts the binky in her mouth, grabs the covers and... squish. Throw-up all over the blankets, the crib bumper, her precious blankie, the pillow case, everything. If it's in the crib, it's covered. Unbeknownst to me that this is all going on, I am in the other room fighting to keep my head from falling forward for the 87th time while breastfeeding. You know you are sleep-deprived when your husband is cleaning up your toddler's vomit in the middle of the night, she's in the tub happily playing as if nothing ever happened - what IS it with kids and fevers anyway?? - lights on everywhere, the washer is going, the dryer is running... and all I can think is "Man! He must really be having a hard time finding that binky!" Did I for once think what in the hell might be taking him 20 minutes? Nope. Did I worry? Nu-uh. Did I even attempt to check on him? Negative. Instead, I put the baby back in her bed next to me and silently prayed that THIS time she would stay asleep when I laid her down and by the time my head hit my pillow I was already blacking out. Two hours later I awoke to an empty void on the opposite side of the bed and realized something was very wrong. If you want to know what your brain comes up with at that time of the morning when you've already been awake at least 8 times since midnight, it's this: Oh my god... Ryan did it. He ran away in the middle of the night. That bastard left me with all these kids. Alone. I'm. Going. To. Kill. Him. You laugh, and so do I now, but that was honestly the first thing that popped into my head. I even took an extra moment to see if his recently used duffel bag was still on the floor or packed and gone. I quickly realized this was not the case when I saw his shadow pass by the hallway wall through the crack of our bedroom door. Whew! He's still here. Thank you JESUS. Yeah, I say that a lot. So sue me.
Long story short as Ryan's Dad likes to say... Livy had a virus. The nasty kind with things coming out of all places and multiple tub scrubbings and Shop-vac cleanings of the couch becoming necessary every hour or so. Ryan was an absolute champ. He didn't even wake me. Man, I love that guy.
Mid-day Saturday our little Livy was feeling much better and I let out a sigh of relief that the rest of us were in good shape. The worst was over! Woohoo! We were in the clear and almost escaped completely unscathed. Not only that but the couch even got a good cleaning and those hundreds of juice and milk stains were nowhere to be found! Bonus!
I was absolutely living the high life... until this morning. Even then, my high life had only turned into mid-life. Riley jumped into my bed at his usual 7:30 am time and crawled under the covers. Awwww, how cute. He's really starting to catch on that Mommy likes to sleep until 8. I turn over to give him a gentle "Atta Boy" pat on the head and my stomach falls. Damn, he's burning up. Never fear though, he might be hot but he's acting completely normal. We eventually get up, the baby is hungry again, Riley's hungry, I am desperate for coffee and I hear Livy's cute little voice over the monitor "Where's Wi-Wee?". That's toddler gibberish for "Where's Riley?" if you haven't figured it out already. All is right in the world except for Riley's one minor setback. But hey, he's asking for Captain Crunch so it can't be that bad right? Yeah... right.
By 4 pm Ryan has managed to come home early (which he never does) and he announces that he's left the office because he didn't want to... well... I won't embarass him. He didn't feel well and he just didn't want to do anything in his office that not feeling well might bring on in an instantaneous manner. Nuff said. I tell him "Oh, I'm sorry you don't feel well. Riley has a mild fever but he's napping on the couch. Maybe you should do the same?" and I'm simultaneously thinking that it can't be that bad because Ryan now wants to know where the bag of pretzels from the pantry are and Riley just ate another bowl of Captain Crunch AND asked for chocolate milk. Who has an upset stomach and asks for milk? Exactly. A 4 year old. Guess I should have considered all that before I agreed to the 3rd cup of that dreaded beverage. I sit down on the opposite couch from little Riley, looking at him so lovingly. He's my baby boy and he doesn't feel good. I love him so much, I wish I could make it all go away. Meanwhile, I'm holding Natalie the peanut who is going to town on her 5th lunch of the day. Man is she an eater! Riley must know I'm thinking about him because he opens his eyes and looks at me. Those light blue eyes. He's so cute. I know I'm his Mom so my opinion is biased, but he really is a good lookin' kid. I watch him, he watches me. He starts to look funny. He closes his eyes. His stomach is moving but it's not in rhythm with his breathing anymore. Uh-oh. I say to him "Riley, does your stomach hurt or feel sick?" as if he's going to know the difference. Dear Jesus what is wrong with me? He says "It hurts". I ask him "Do you have to throw up?". He adamantly denies it. No, only his stomach hurts. He leans back farther into the couch and grabs his belly. "Riley! Do you have to throw-up because if you do...." and that's pretty much as far as I get. Chocolate milk and Captain Crunch pieces go flying everywhere. Chocolate milk that I decided was a really good idea to give him at the time because after all, everyone knows you can't take Motrin on an empty stomach! Chocolate milk that is now covering 1/3 of the couch and floor and the new pillow and rug I got for Christmas. I start to yell and then I stop. First, I can't get up. I am still nursing the baby. Second, why in God's name would I ever think for a single minute that this poor kid could tell me not only that he has to throw up but then gingerly get up from the couch, walk down the hall, open the bathroom door, pull up the lid to the toilet and then proceed to spew directly into the bowl. Most adults don't even make it that far. I do the only thing I can at that moment, scream to Ryan who is resting in the bedroom to come help. He gets the short end of the stick pretty often I realize. Again, like a super hero, he comes to our rescue. I can tell he's trying not to lose it himself as he picks up Riley and heads toward the tub. He's such a good Daddy. Don't you think? Meanwhile, me, who seems to be becoming more and more throw-up-a-phobic with each kid I add to this family, can't even look at the dark brown stain on our light beige couch. After much cleaning and another trip with the Shop-vac, the only sign of any disturbance is the wet stain on the cushion and the fan that is blowing vomit fumes my way. I gotta get out of here. I try to make it sound as loving and concerned as possible when I announce that I'm going to the store for chicken soup and ginger ale. Will drop off Livy at the grandparents and take the baby with me. Ryan agrees, whew! I put my shoes and coat on faster than you can say "VOMIT!" and am dragging Livy and the baby out the front door. I'm pretty sure I haven't brushed my hair or teeth today which is probably TMI, but you know what? I'm dealing with the plague in my house and I don't really give a damn right now. If my breath stinks maybe you should just look the other way checkout boy. I've got bigger problems. I succeed in getting the needed items from the store, drop them off at home, and go back to relieve Grandpa of Livy duty. After making him some dinner to show my appreciation I head home. Afterall, Ryan isn't feeling well and I want to be there for him and my baby boy if they need some TLC. So long as they keep their germs to themselves, that is. All is as good as can be expected when I get there. I dispense the ginger ale like a good Mother and wife would do in this situation. I ask everyone if they are okay, do they need anything? Nope, all is fine. In fact, Riley hasn't even thrown up since I left! Yay! I leave Riley and Dad to their movie in the bedroom and sit down here to do a bit of catching up on Facebook, e-mails, etc. It's rare that the baby and Livy are sleeping at the same time and with Riley and Ryan preoccupied I get a rare moment to myself. I'm actually excited. After 20 minutes of bliss I hear the bedroom door open. It's Riley. He seems chipper. "Mom," he says in that perfect little high-pitched boy voice "I just loved that movie you got for me. It was great!". I smile. I'm thrilled I decided at the last minute to hit up the Red Box movie thing when I went shopping on Sunday. I love bringing home special little treats and surprises for him. The look on his face is always priceless. I tell him I'm so glad and ask him how he's feeling. I can see that Ryan has gotten crafty and given him our bright orange Halloween candy bowl with black spider decals all over it as a safety back-up for up-chucking. He might miss, he might not. If there's a chance we'll have to clean less from the floor or couch, I say go for it dude. He smiles at me, my heart melts, he takes his bowl and sippy cup of ginger ale over toward the couch and is in mid sentence of telling me about the movie when his face changes. He holds the bowl out in front of him and proceeds to throw up down himself with only a small portion actually making it into the bowl. Oh, and the sippy cup is now swimming in it. Yep. Another "day in the life of three" for me. Only this time I realize that Ryan is passed out in bed and I wouldn't dare wake him. Looks like this one is on me people. Life of Three going solo. I usher Riley to the tub... his second trip there for the day... and tell him what a good job he did on trying to make it into the bowl. Next time maybe he could hold it a little closer. He laughs. "Hey Mom?" "Yeah Riley?" "Do you think I could get some more of that delicious soda?" Without hesitation he grabs his cup right out of the regurgitated ginger ale and thrusts it at me. He's got the enthusiasm of a child who realizes he's finally found his answer for conning his parents into multiple glasses of a sugar-laden soft drink for the day and then proceeds to dry heave over my bare feet. Winter. You can suck my big left toe with a hang nail the size of Texas. Spring can't get here soon enough.
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