Sunday, March 16, 2014

This Lap Isn't Big Enough for the Both of Us

My girls are sick.  I should be happy.  It's taken nine months for both my kids to be sick at the same time.  Sure, they've gotten colds and traded bugs back and forth, but never at the same time.  This time, however, they are both sick.  They are both gross.  They are both feverish and crabby.  I don't know what kind of super bug they have, but it started with a cough and then developed into diarrhea, vomiting, fever, diaper rash and pink eye.  I bet you can't wait to visit us!  I feel like I'm living in a plague house and that I should mark our front door with lamb's blood to avoid an invasion of locusts.

My poor kids.  Every mom hates seeing her kids like this.  What I hate more than anything else is the vague diagnosis that I get from the doctor.  I got the "It's some kind of virus.  I can't tell you what."  You went to medical school for that!  I went to culinary school and I can say the same thing, only with less authority!  When Bean gets sick, all the color drains from her face except her cheeks get bright red, and her fingers and toes turn bluish purple, which obviously terrifies me.  I then end googling everything until I'm officially crazy and on the verge of running to the ER.  WebMD is the worst thing that ever happened to modern moms.

Bean had her first case of diarrhea, which literally scared the shit out of her.  I hastily try to explain diarrhea to her, but the idea that she suddenly doesn't have control of her bowels sends us to the bathroom all day long.  And she doesn't calmly get up to go to the bathroom.  No.  Instead, she grabs her bottom, as if having her hand on her tush will have any effect on the river of shit that is about to burst forth.  HT is on my hip, sweaty and miserable throughout all this.  Her diarrhea is more explosive, like somehow her diarrhea was fused with firecrackers because it comes out in a fury up on her stomach and through her onesie's neck hole and out each leg hole.  I didn't know poop could do that.  After a nap, I found poop on her face.  It was on her nose and to the right of her mouth.  Did she eat it?  I don't know.  Maybe.  Does it matter?

Bean's pink eye wasn't even diagnosed as pink eye.  I was told her bloodshot eyes were just another random symptom of the "mysterious virus" diagnosis that my pediatrician who went through four years of medical school concluded.  I'm calling it pink eye because I received an e-mail from Bean's pre-school about another case of conjunctivitis in her class.  Did you ever try giving eye drops to an almost four-year old?  It's like wrangling a pig, only without the lasso (because that would be illegal and grounds for child abuse) and the pig talks back crying pitifully so you end up crying and whatever drops you manage to get in the first place slip out with the tears so you have to do it all over again.  And then, do it three more times each day for a week.  A week!

And then there's HT's baboon butt.  I've never seen a diaper rash like this in my entire life.  The rash covers the entire diapered region and is red hot to the touch.  She screams anytime I approach to change her diaper and I have to change it frequently to avoid aggravating the rash.  Each time, I basically take her to the bath to hose her off because she's covered in poop anyway and also because I don't want to use wipes because her skin is so sensitive.  The upside to this, is that there are so many tears coming out of her eyes that I no longer have to worry about dehydration.  Thanks WebMD!

My poor kids.  I spend my day holding both of them on my lap.  My sweaty and sick babies lean into me breathing their combined super germs on me, guaranteeing that at some point I will find myself staring at the toilet bowl too.  And I don't care, because in this moment, I want nothing more than for my kids to be healthy again.  I will enjoy the sweet cuddles for now, but I look forward to tomorrow when I'll have to chase them both around again and again and again.

No comments:

Post a Comment