Alright. *sigh* Not to jinx myself, but I do believe the worst is over (looks around suspiciously for flying puke ala Nickelodeon’s old You Can’t Do That on Television).
10:50am–Gavin and I run to my doctor appointment…I am armed with two large beach towels, 4 grocery bags, sippy cup of water and sippy cup of pedialyte…and carrying a kid who’s about 38 inches tall and 38 lbs. Mind you, I haven’t eaten yet (although my appetite is still low).
11:10am–As we’re walking into the medical building, Gavin says, “I need the toilet” and I shuffle off hurredly for the washroom. First stall–eww! Really, who doesn’t FLUSH anymore? So we go to the handicap stall. He leans over, but doesn’t puke. He then looks at me, “it’s broken. no puke.” (during potty training if he didn’t have to go, he’d tell us “it” was broken, too…unfortunately I always laughed).
11:15am–we sign in at the doctor and go sit. Normally my appointments (sick and otherwise) are 20 minutes, tops…from sign-in to climbing back in the car. Today, however, as I prophesized, we waited 20 minutes before being called back.
11:35am–chat with the nurse, ensure Gavin won’t puke on her cute pink scrubs, and put on a paper vest backwards, which completely horrified Gavin (“Mommy, it’s paper!!! It’s notta shirt!!!”).
11:45am–doc comes in, declares me roseola-free, but that I happen to have a particularly virulent stomach virus that is also manifesting itself in the form of a rash (quite common, according to him), plus he reminds me that I didn’t have a super-high fever, which is the precursor for roseola. He offers me meds to get the nausea under control (“might cause drowsiness”…with two kids by myself? one of which is yakking everywhere? no thanks), and we head on out.
12:15pm–we arrive home, Gavin lays back on the couch while I eat a little lunch.
1:00pm–Gavin climbs off the couch and announces, “tummy!” so off we run to the bathroom. That’s #5.
1:15pm–all cleaned up, put him back on the couch in front of Cars, clean up my lunch, clean up the carpet next to his bed, put fresh sheets/blankets on it. By the time I’m done, he’s dozed off.
2:00pm–I pick up his dead-weight and carry him upstairs…he wakes up enough to protest that he doesn’t need a nap. I tell him he just needs to rest a little while. He gets mad and tells me to go. He’s out less than 5 minutes later.
4:15pm–I wake him up and try to get him to go potty. He adamently refuses. So I go with the bathroom door open, hoping to encourage him. Yep…I walked in and he had dozed off again and wet the bed. Change clothes, change sheets, get in the car with sippy cups, and off we go to get Cooper from school.
5:30pm–we arrive home and I offer a little more pedialyte and saltine crackers. They go down fine. He asks for more. I hold off a little, but slowly put small pieces of saltines in his bowl. He nibbles more and asks for more water and pedialyte. He drinks more, eats more crackers, and eats the dry Cheerios I offer. He also throws a royal tantrum that I will not let him have milk.
7:00pm–he is yelling like normal, making Cooper laugh, and has successfully eaten 4 saltines, 6 ounces each of water and pedialyte, and about a 1/2-cup of dry Cheerios. He’s also belly-laughing at Thomas’ antics and has peed again.
As long as he doesn’t develop the fun rash like mine and keeps his food down, I think I will send him to school. Me, on the otherhand, still feel crummy and am afraid to leave the comforts of frequent bland meals and comfy waistbands (read: yoga pants and athletic pants). Plus that pesky rash creeping over the neckline of my shirts isn’t very comforting to the general public.
Yesterday, prior to the Barf-bath, Gavin flashes Preschool Gang-signs:
and Cooper finds it hysterical: