Parenting is Hard!

After a thrilling Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday have brought me back to the depths of how hard parenting can be. Now the weather was even better Tuesday than it was on Monday. I woke up to birds singing..............and then it all went to hell. I walked into my son's room and it literally smelled like a bomb went off; a big, poopy one. Upon closer inspection, I saw poop in his crib. He has not had a major blowout in such a long time that I was not anticipating this. So, I pick up the boy, change him and then rip the sheets off. Does anyone have any idea how hard it is to get sheets off a crib mattress when they are safety latched on and when your belly is so big you just can't get close enough to the crib. Well, sheer determination is the only way I got those sheets off and down to the laundry.

I stupidly thought this was the end of it. I mean it's April for cripe's sake. Steve and I went downstairs and had breakfast. He wouldn't eat his Cream Of Wheat, but ate everything else, so I thought nothing of it.

I put Steve back in his crib with his assortment of toys, and went to get myself ready for our tumbling class. I was halfway done when I heard a scream. THE SCREAM. The scream that all moms know only means one thing-----something was very wrong with my boy. I walked into Steve's room to find the mattress, I hadn't put a new sheet on yet, covered in puke and poor little Steve standing with dirty hands. Steve hates dirty hands, so you can imagine how upset he was. Now I felt bad for the child, I really did. BUT I am really bad with throw up. Give me blood any day, but no thanks to the puke. Oh, and with my bloodhound sense of smell that I have right now, well, I almost lost my cookies too! I just surveyed the situation and I didn't know where to start. Finally, I figured it was best to clean my little one to make him feel better. And a bath was the only way to go; the situation was already too far gone, if you know what I mean.

Steve never did throw up again, and only had diarhea. He was running around the house being his usual toddler self. I just didn't get it. I told him he is supposed to be MORE tired after throwing up, not less. He didn't care what he was SUPPOSED to be; he just kept running while I didn't know whether to make heads or tails of the situation.

That evening Steve even was able to keep down water, toast and sugar-free applesauce. I figured maybe that was the end of it. The diarhea was gone, he hadn't thrown up again and he was eating. Plus, he was playing with his toys again. AGAIN I was wrong.

He woke up this morning very lethargic and very warm. He had a 103.5 temp. He wouldn't eat and barely drank. He just sat there crying. I felt helpless. I also had an OB appt. that I had to go to because I hadn't seen a doctor in 6 weeks. Two weeks ago I saw the nurse, but the doctor had to leave to deliver a baby. I also knew there was no way I could take Steve with me in the condition he was in. I made the decision to call Jeff and ask him to come home while I went to my appt. Poor Jeff has a 45-60 minute commute each way. He had only been there an hour and a half when I called. I expected him to be upset or tell me to call his mother, but he didn't. He said to give him five minutes and he would be on his way. It was still so early that his boss wasn't even there. Jeff likes to get there early to get things done before there is anyone or anything to interfere with his work. He's an early bird; I am not! I was just so impressed with my husband. I think I even fell more inlove with him at that moment. Who'd have thought 10 years ago I would get that little patter when my husband agreed to come home and watch our sick kid so I could go to a doctor appt. Sad, but true.

Of course, my OB was late. I was the second appt. of the day! WHen they led me to the room, the nurse said he wasn't even in the office yet, and they hoped he wouldn't be too long. Sorry. I had visions of them cancelling my appt. after all I'd gone through to get there. I was hormonal, I admit. I haven't been able to sleep, I 've been taking care of a sick kid while being 8 months pregnant and incredibly uncomfortable, and now I may have to come back AGAIN to see the doctor. Tears were welling up in my eyes, and I tried to tell myself, 'Don't cry, no one will take you seriously if you cry.' I do not cry easily, but between hormones and no sleep, I was on the verge. Lucklily, I was able to stop before I started. My OB ended up being 35 minutes late, no I'm not counting, but he made it. He apologized, and I usually end up saying, 'Oh, that's OK', but I didn't this time. I think that surprised him. I'm sick of always being nice, and my time meaning nothing. Anyway, long story short. The baby is doing well. His heartbeat is strong, he's moving, and he's measuring BIG still. My OB said it was a good thing we were taking him by c-section and early. I agree. I doubt I'd be able to make it to 40 weeks. I can also take Benadryl to help me sleep. AND I WILL.

Fast forward to Steve's doctor appt. I usually underreact and my kid is sicker than I thought. I always feel terrible then and vow never to make him wait for treatment again. This time I didn't. Steve wasn't himself, and I wanted to make sure he was OK. The doctor could only see him during naptime, of course. Bottom-line: It's what I thought, a mild version of the flu. Apparently, everyone has it. Lovely! Steve already had it back in September, and he lovingly gave it to all of us. I found out I was pregnant on a Wednesday, and got the lovely flu on Friday. I thought he was done. He did get the flu shot, but this is the stomach flu, so it doesn't help.

We tried to take a nap when we got home. 45 minutes into it, I hear a screaming cry. Diahrea. More laundry to do. This parenting thing is hard.