Cry, baby, cry (let your mother laugh)

Alrighty, since my last post garnered way more sympathy texts than laughs, I thought I should disclose that:

1) I am OK, we are OK and 

2) I am trying to be funny. PLEASE LAUGH (even if you also want to cry). And if you do cry, please lie to me and tell me you laughed!

I also want to reiterate that the story about everyone puking was from a few months ago.  We had been healthy for at least a week by the time I wrote that.  As luck would have it, the day after posting it, Charlie started throwing up all night long (knocking on wood never works).  Then a few days later (Valentine's Day to be exact), Trevor started puking, and the next day Phoebe started puking... It just so happens that puking and not sleeping seem to be the only "funny" things going on over here!

It is gross, it is tiring, but it is still pretty funny. However, if you do not laugh, it is not funny. SO PLEASE LAUGH!

I was going back through some of my notes to find other things that were funny-but-not-funny that I had been meaning to write about.  One note said, "she's in the garbage sucking on someone's dirty q-tip." But with no other context clues, I have no recollection of what that was about...

Another funny-but-not-funny story came from a one of the first nights home from the hospital as a family of 4.  Here is ow that particularly "fun" evening went: 

8:30pm: changing infant diaper in the bathroom while toddler takes a dump on the potty.

8:31pm: infant is screaming and crying as I struggle to get the diaper and jammies on.

8:32pm: toddler complains that the toilet water splashed in her face while she pooped.

8:32pm and 2 seconds: call in hubby; I need back-up ASAP.

8:33pm: hubby wipes toddler's bottom, washes her poop-water-splashed face, brushes her teeth.

9:30pm: finally get the loud and cranky infant to sleep while hubby reads books to the toddler. 

9:45pm: relieve hubby of book-reading duties so he can go back to finishing grading papers for work. 

10:30pm: finally get overactive toddler to sleep.

11:00pm: clean up kitchen and shove a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich and a couple cookies in my mouth.

11:30pm: brush my teeth and go to sleep. 

1:45am: toddler comes into our bed.

2:15am: infant gets up to nurse.

2:20am: restless toddler keeps rolling around and knocking into nursing infant.

2:21am: gently (yet forcefully) shove toddler across the bed and away from nursing infant and realize toddler is soaking wet and has congested breathing. 

2:21am: worry that toddler is sick and sweating thru her clothes? Feverish? She doesn’t feel hot...

2:22am: realize that toddler probably got the germs from that damn booger-faced kid that I saw at daycare pick-up.  Hopefully it’s just a cold and not goddamn COVID. Also realize she definitely pissed her jammies. 

2:30am: finish nursing infant who fell back a sleep, put infant down in the bassinet.... asleep.

2:31am: infant has explosive shit.

2:32am: pick infant back up and bring to bathroom to change disgusting diaper.

2:34am: open up diaper and infant had another explosive shit mid-change. 

2:40am: infant is now all cleaned up with a fresh diaper, new jammies are on, and he is re-swaddled and ready for bed. 

2:41am: infant is now wide awake. 

2:42am: nurse infant again.

3:00am: put sleepy infant back in bassinet.

3:02am: go check toddler's bed.

3:03am: confirm toddler bed is soaked with urine.

3:05am: find clean bed sheets and change toddler bed.

3:15am: find new toddler underwear and jammies.

3:16am: remove soggy clothes from comatose toddler who wakes up upset looking for Gregory (the goat who eats trash - a character from the last book she read). 

3:18am: proceed to only get underpants on the confused toddler before she starts to lose it. 

3:19am: give up on the jammies and usher toddler back to her own, now clean and dry bed.

3:30am: toddler is back to sleep.

3:31am: go back to my room and strip my wet bed sheets.

3:33am: find clean sheets and start to change the bed.

3:35am: dazed and confused naked toddler returns to my room see what I am doing.

3:45am: dazed and confused naked toddler is ushered back to sleep in her own bed.

3:55am: finish making my king-size bed but could only find a twin-size comforter. Leave an extra fleece blanket on hubby’s side of the bed in case he ever makes it up to bed.

4:05am: lay in bed wide awake not tired; wondering what’s next: nursing infant or more confused toddler?  Stressing about how to keep this booger-faced toddler away from this immunodeficient infant? Decide to write this all down.

4:15am: infant rips a nasty wet fart....

4:16am: consider whether or not to check infant's diaper weighing the risk of waking him up and pissing him off and taking at least another 30 min to get him back to sleep vs letting him sleep in a shitty diaper (that may or may not actually be shitty).

4:17am: decide he will let me know if he needs changing and stay in bed....

4:18am: start looking at mindless social media to bore my brain and tire me out.

4:20am: dazed and confused booger-faced toddler comes in and wants me to lay down with her in her bed.

4:26am: laying in toddler bed I hear a weird screaming noise.  Toddler is sound asleep. I get up and check infant - he seems fine. Assume it must be a fox? Or did I dream it? Or am I actually losing my mind?

4:45am: toddler keeps sneezing and is wide awake again.

4:46am: sneak downstairs to grab a face mask and come back up.

4:47am: toddler cries for me to take the mask off. Tell her in the politest way to shut up, mind your own business, and go the hell to sleep.

5:00am: infant starts stirring. 

5:02am: text hubby if he is awake, no response. 

5:30am: infant starts chirping.

5:40am: infant is full-on screaming.

5:44am: nursing infant in my room.

5:45am: toddler comes in my room crying for me to come back in her room. Tell her to go back to bed.

5:50am: toddler comes back out of her room; tell her to go back to bed. She says she has to use the potty. Fine. Go!

5:52am: toddler comes out of bathroom (no toilet flush or sink sounds but she goes back to bed on her own, so I keep my mouth shut). 

6:15am: infant is back to sleep. Toddler hasn’t moved in 20 minutes. Maybe she’s asleep? Should I even try to go back to sleep? Or make the biggest cup of the strongest coffee and “enjoy” a few minutes of quiet time by myself?

6:20am:  Well, I procrastinated too long. EVERYONE IS UP FOR THE DAY!! 

Lesson of the day: Control what you can control. Forget sleep. Always make the coffee!

Audience check-in: Are you laughing?

Yes?  Perfect!  Thank you.

No?  Reminder:  keep your crying to yourself and tell me you laughed.

Sick of being tired, tired of being sick...

"How are you doing?"

Me? Well, I am tired.

I am too tired to think of how I am doing... 

Someone once followed up to my response with "Oh so you didn't sleep well last night?"

Yes.  I did not sleep well last night.... Or the night before that, or the night before that, or the week before that, or the month before that, or the year before that... 

But it is not that I just do not sleep well....

On Tuesday morning Charlie threw up for seemingly no reason.  I had to take off work because he has to be 24-hours puke free before can return to daycare.  But I have been taking off sooo many days of work for sick kids (or daycare was closed due to COVID etc.) that I have no more sick/vacation days at work so I am trying to work while also keeping the baby occupied and safe.  He doesn't seem sick, so he is running around at his normal energy levels and demanding my full attention and limiting my ability to get any meaningful work done.  

On Wednesday he seemed fine and hadn't puked again, so off the school he went. I picked up the kids in the afternoon, brought them home, and am trying to make dinner, but clingy little Charlie is just hugging on my legs and demanding I pick him up.  I get the potatoes out of the oven to cool next to the chicken on the counter.  I turn my back to the food and pick up little Charlie who then instantly proceeds to vomit over my shoulder onto the food on the counter. When I realize what he's doing I lunge forward and turnaround, but he's still puking, projectile vomiting over every last inch of the kitchen floor.  It was impressive. So he's not eating dinner, but Phoebe is still hungry and is now hangry about dinner being destroyed. We get everyone cleaned up, some of us fed (or conveniently lost our appetite).  We get Charlie to sleep.

At bedtime we start talking to Phoebe about Charlie being sick. Phoebe starts saying that she feels sick too.  Now this is a common routine that when the little baby starts getting attention for something, that the big sister follows suit.  Phoebe: "my tummy hurts too!"  So, is it true or is she faking?  Phoebe: "my tummy hurtssss....." Really time is the only way to tell.  Phoebe: "I don't feel good!" We read her the story about the boy who cried wolf.  Phoebe: "No, my tummy really hurts!" And how if you say things that are not true, people won't believe you when you say things that are true. Phoebe: "but it really really hurts!"  We tuck her in.  Shut off her lights.  Say goodnight. Phoebe: "Mommy, my tummy still hurts!"  ENOUGH! GO TO SLEEP.  

We go downstairs to start cleaning up the dinner plates, the toys, the crumbs, the lunch boxes, run the dishwasher. Then the vomiting starts and an ecstatic Phoebe:  "SEE I TOLD YOU I WAS SICK!"  She wasn't lying.  We stripped the bed, changed her clothes, gave her another bath.  Got her new sheets, blankets, jammies, and back to bed. She puked at least ten times with me that night. Each time I was there by her side with the garbage can in hand ready to go. Each time, in a near comatose state she somehow managed to punch the garbage away and flop back on the bed as she exorcist-style sprayed her rancid insides all over her room.  Each time, scooping up blankets and soiled sheets, changing jammies, running the washing machine or piling up puke-stained sheets next to it. Around 3am I tapped out and Trevor took over for 4-5 more sessions before the sua came up.

The next day (Wednesday), I took off work again. There is no way I could even pretend to work. At least she was sick enough to lay around and watch movies without much assistance from me.  But Charlie was home too so I again wasn't getting much work done.  She puked another time in the afternoon which ruled out school for the next day and then when the sun went down she ramped up the frequency again, puking and puking and missing bucket after bucket.  We are now using beach towels as blankets and table clothes as sheets because every sheet/blanket/throw/comforter/bath towel is soiled in vomit.

On Thursday, Charlie was back to school but Phoebe was still home and still out of it - again seemed better during the day but then returned to pukefest 2000 at night.  Through all of this I can't stop worrying about coming down with this myself.  Trevor's parents were here earlier in the week and they ended up getting it too.  So far though Trevor and I seem to be spared and are hoping beyond hope that it stays that way.  We make it to Friday and think we are out of the clear.  

Friday night, Trevor starts coming down with severe stomach pains.  We isolate him in the guest room.  I Lysol EVERYTHING.  Masks, hand sanitize non-stop.  Saturday morning both the kids are feeling better.  Their appetites are returning.  Trevor is out of commission. We have absolutely no food in the house.  I have not left the house in days. So, I put in a grocery order for pick up.  I keep the kids in their pajamas because we won't need to get out of the car - we ordered online, they bring the food out and stick it right in your trunk.  It is amazing.  Phoebe is in her jammies.  Charlie, I didn't even put shoes or socks on him, just stuck him in the car seat in his pajamas with some snacks. Let's get some fresh air. I NEED TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE... Windows open.  Air out these germs.

On the 8-minute ride to the grocery store we start a conversation about being sick and the different ways your body helps you get better.  How throwing up is your body's way of protecting you from illness.  We talk about what diarrhea is.  A few moments later... Phoebe: "Mommy I think I need to use the potty" Ok, well Phoebe we just used the potty before we left, so it'll be a little bit before we are back home.  Phoebe: "Mommy, my tummy hurts again!"  Ok, Phoebe just breathe. I put on some chill music to try to distract her.  Phoebe (starting to cry and whine): "Mommy, my tummy hurts really badly!"  Ok just relax hun, we will be home soon.  Phoebe (full out screaming): "Mommy, NO I need to use the bathroom RIGHT NOW!"     

What do I do? What would you do?

I'm going 75 mph on the highway with no exits in sight.  

Do I pull over and have her shit in the woods?  

Do I have any wipes?  

Are my socks clean enough to wipe her butt?  

Where is the nearest public restroom?  

Would we even make it there in time?  

If she shat in her car seat... Where's the nearest dumpster?

How much would a car seat replacement cost?

Is she "crying wolf"? 

Every option is a gamble. I stay the course en route to the grocery store.  At this point the distance to home, some random restroom, or the grocery store are all about the same. We need food. The booster seat was only $29. 

We park in the pick-up zone. I frantically unbuckle a screaming/crying Phoebe out of her car seat,  dragging her by the arm with a squirmy-wormy, shoe-less Charlie on my hip who only wants to walk, but he has no shoes and we need to move FAST so now he's screaming and crying too.  We are all in our pajamas.  We run right past the row of shopping carts, one extremely tired and stressed out mom + two miserable children, and head straight for the filthy public restrooms.  

We all snuggle in to the handicap stall, which is clogged with toilet paper, piss on the seats.  Hey, you got to go, you got to go. Here you go. Now go. She takes one look at the disgustingly dirty potty with the loud automatic flusher and decides that nope, she does not have to go any more. I grit my teeth, bite my tongue, close my eyes, take a deep breath. If I was my mother I would probably recite the serenity prayer. If I was my grandmother I'd be praying hard for some sort of "Lord help me..." Funny that I find myself somehow wishing or preferring that she had actually crapped her pants in my car?! Mad. Tired. Confused. Exhausted.

I don't remember how we got home, how we got groceries, however they were unpacked.  I just remember having half a second of personal time later in the day when the baby was napping, Trevor was resting, Phoebe watching a movie.

I check my phone and have a message from a friend...

"How are you doing?"

Heh, where do I even begin?  

I simply reply "I am tired"

"Oh did you not sleep well last night?"

Grit the teeth...

Bite the tongue...

Close your eyes...

Take a deep breath...

"Nope"