Blow

We are sick.  Very sick.  With the stomach garbage that makes you wish for death.  It started on Friday night/early Saturday morning when Gideon started screaming in his crib.  Jud went to get him after some prodding as I was already awake with back contractions and didn’t want to bend down to get him out of the crib.  Jud yelled for me right away and the sound of alert in his voice made me forget the pain in my back immediately.  We spent the next two hours reading him stories and shoving a bucket under his face anytime he started yelling “no, no, no,” which is apparently Gideon-speak for “the puke is coming now.”  He slept off and on and took tiny sips of water and was in general an incredible kid.  I’ve never seen someone feel so bad and smile so much.  He’s just great. 

Sunday night Jud and I went to see a movie that we couldn’t watch.  We got our money back and I sobbed in the car about cruelty to children.  We drove back to my parents house, where Gideon was having fun in between frequent diaper changes that also involved screaming ‘no’ and I hugged and hugged his little body, thankful that he’s been given to us to protect.  And then I started feeling really bad.  I asked for a bucket.  I took the bucket back to our house and good thing too because we wouldn’t have made it inside cleanly otherwise. I made my little bed in the bathroom and prayed for the end.  The second coming.  A bullet.  Whatever.  It was horrid.

And then I heard Jud running for the bathroom.  He’s been sleeping for about two days straight now and I’m not so sure he hasn’t died, except that every now and again I can see the covers move ever so slightly.  Gideon is still waking up exhausted and covered in poo. Frankly, I’m just glad he’s still in diapers and not having to freak out about getting to the toilet like the rest of us just yet.  How do you tell a toddler that sometimes going in your pants is your only option versus all those times you’ve encouraged them to tell you when they have to go?  Ugh. 

So, I’m exhausted, unable to sleep and still experiencing tiny bouts of shortness of breath with hot searing pain (no worries, says the doc. It’s just what happens when a giant baby is compressing your diaphragm and you’ve injured your muscles by heaving.  Nice). We all hope your Valentine’s Day was just as exciting!  Off to disinfect.