It's just teeth
Well, I'm back. Only a headcold artistically overlapped with a stomach flu could keep me away.
The cold wasn't horrible. I've had worse, that's for certain. The taste of food was blanched to the point of neutrality, which I tried to turn into an advantageous diet. It failed when my sense of smell started returning and I caught a whiff of the Peanut M&M's awaiting patiently in the pantry for my inevitable return.
Mission failed.
Or was it?
Very early Wednesday morning - like, 2AM-eyes-still-caked-with-sleep-morning - the Spawnling began to squirm and whine in bed. Teeth, I told myself. Just teeth. He's getting four at once which is probably about as comfortable as eating sandpaper. No wonder he was whiny.
The great advantage of co-sleeping is that I only have to roll over, lift my shirt and go back to sleep. He then nurses, rolls over and also goes back to sleep. I never did get the crib thing. Why would you do that to yourself? Why have to get up in the middle of the night when your baby wakes up? Ew. Cribs are for suckers.
Cribs are also, apparently, for people who like to keep their beds sanitary. By that I mean people who don't like having their breastmilk quickly regurgitated next to them on the pillow. Spawnling threw up everything his mama gave him. Nice.
One change of bedsheets and some wondering how much easier it would be to only have to change crib bedding later, we were back asleep. No problems for the rest of the night. In the morning I called the speech therapist and cancelled our appointment, just in case it was an actual virus. No sense in having him chew the couch 30 other children will use the same day.
We had a playdate scheduled for around lunchtime that day as well, with a new-ish friend and her son. By 'new-ish' I mean that I've seen her around Intrepid's school for years, then around Gutsy's preschool this year (she's a control-freak mom like me who joins her kids' school committees), then around the Tim Hortons by my old house and, finally, added me as a friend on Facebook.
Once someone adds you on Facebook, you know they're not just being nicey-nice but they might actually find you worth getting to know. This is further strengthened when they invite you to Mom Nights, which she did via Facebook messages.
What are Mom Nights, you ask? Good question, I reply. I have a ten-year-old and I just found out about these things. I was a motherhood loser up until I had my third child, apparently. These Mom Nights are pretty sweet. For those who drink (read: not giant alcoholics like me) there's always some wine and other drinks designed to make you think getting tipsy is sophisticated. For the rest of us, there is a lot of delicious food. Wonderful, amazing, glorious food made by people who really want to impress the hell out of the rest of us with their culinary skills and unexplained time on their hands.
Then there are people like me who bring a bit of homemade salsa, some store-bought chips and some pastries they could have passed off as their own had they bothered to make the effort and remove them from the styrofoam packaging.
But I digress... I went to Newish friend's house for Mom's Night (with said head cold, I might add) and was planning on having her over on Wednesday when Spawnling unleashed his evil upon my pillowcase. Yet, he hadn't thrown up all morning, so after sending her the obligatory 'PUKE ALERT!!!' message, we convinced ourselves that it was probably teeth and she came over anyway.
That evening, while I was holding him and baking bread, he released his demonic energy in a sudden explosion that flew out the side of his diaper, covering my shirt, pants and the kitchen floor. It reeked of things only found in the depths of hell and took not one, but two floor moppings to clean, but at least he felt better after that.
But hey, maybe it was teeth. Just teeth, right? Teething makes them rumbly in the tummy.
The next morning, Thursday, I called Mrs. Wailing to cancel our long-awaited get-together, as I was growing more concerned that this might be a little stomach bug and not just teeth. However, Mrs. W. assured me that Baby Wailing had gone through something very similar when he was getting the very same set of teeth and that it was probably safe to come by. So we did.
And I ate a breakfast sandwich once I got there.
And I felt a bit sick.
Then I felt a lot more sick.
And I knew something was off. Wrong. Slightly askew.
I went home early and had a lovely sitdown on the throne four times.
I had a bath.
I curled up in bed with Spawnling. I was quite cold.
I got up because it was time to get Gutsy from school. It took every ounce of strength I had to get both of us into the van. I was sweating and felt a little dizzy.
I called Geekster and told him he needed to come home. Like, now. Not after the meeting. Now. So very now that I had to let him go and pull over to the side of the road so I wouldn't black out while driving.
Damn.
I tried to call the school, but they had the kids outside so there was no answer. I pulled into the parking lot a couple of blocks from the school (the closest you can park) and looked around for a mom friend to wave over. I wanted to crawl in front of someone's minivan and feebly ask them to walk Gutsy from the school over to me because I wasn't sure if I could make the trip on my own. But, of course, there was nobody's van to crawl in front of, and I might have made them spill their latte anyway. Such a waste.
Getting an umbrella stroller and a baby out of a van when you feel like you can't even stand up is a feat in and of itself. I relied purely on mothering instincts. 100% gotta-get-my-baby-home-ness. I don't know what else could have kept me going like that.
Incidentally, umbrella strollers are horrible at supporting a 200+ pound woman with a stomach flu. Next time I suspect it's 'just teeth' I'm going to put the Benz of strollers from our collection in there. The one with big wheels and cushy padding on the handle.
I don't know how I made it there, but I do know that I sat down in the yard while one of my friends collected Gutsy and his belongings for me. I received a lot of 'are you ok?' and 'you look pale' comments. I wanted to reply with 'I'm never ok - I have three children' and 'No, this is just me working on my Michael Jackson costume for Hallowe'en, thanks' but I didn't have the energy.
We got back to the van, I strapped the kids in, put the stroller away, got behind the wheel, grabbed a pretty, red shopping bag and threw up into it countless times.
I came home, went straight to bed and felt a lot better by morning.
Oh, the joys of teething.
Must go pick up my sister and get a Pumpkin Spice Latte now. Apparently my teeth have come in.
If only I could stop drooling.
The cold wasn't horrible. I've had worse, that's for certain. The taste of food was blanched to the point of neutrality, which I tried to turn into an advantageous diet. It failed when my sense of smell started returning and I caught a whiff of the Peanut M&M's awaiting patiently in the pantry for my inevitable return.
Mission failed.
Or was it?
Very early Wednesday morning - like, 2AM-eyes-still-caked-with-sleep-morning - the Spawnling began to squirm and whine in bed. Teeth, I told myself. Just teeth. He's getting four at once which is probably about as comfortable as eating sandpaper. No wonder he was whiny.
The great advantage of co-sleeping is that I only have to roll over, lift my shirt and go back to sleep. He then nurses, rolls over and also goes back to sleep. I never did get the crib thing. Why would you do that to yourself? Why have to get up in the middle of the night when your baby wakes up? Ew. Cribs are for suckers.
Cribs are also, apparently, for people who like to keep their beds sanitary. By that I mean people who don't like having their breastmilk quickly regurgitated next to them on the pillow. Spawnling threw up everything his mama gave him. Nice.
One change of bedsheets and some wondering how much easier it would be to only have to change crib bedding later, we were back asleep. No problems for the rest of the night. In the morning I called the speech therapist and cancelled our appointment, just in case it was an actual virus. No sense in having him chew the couch 30 other children will use the same day.
We had a playdate scheduled for around lunchtime that day as well, with a new-ish friend and her son. By 'new-ish' I mean that I've seen her around Intrepid's school for years, then around Gutsy's preschool this year (she's a control-freak mom like me who joins her kids' school committees), then around the Tim Hortons by my old house and, finally, added me as a friend on Facebook.
Once someone adds you on Facebook, you know they're not just being nicey-nice but they might actually find you worth getting to know. This is further strengthened when they invite you to Mom Nights, which she did via Facebook messages.
What are Mom Nights, you ask? Good question, I reply. I have a ten-year-old and I just found out about these things. I was a motherhood loser up until I had my third child, apparently. These Mom Nights are pretty sweet. For those who drink (read: not giant alcoholics like me) there's always some wine and other drinks designed to make you think getting tipsy is sophisticated. For the rest of us, there is a lot of delicious food. Wonderful, amazing, glorious food made by people who really want to impress the hell out of the rest of us with their culinary skills and unexplained time on their hands.
Then there are people like me who bring a bit of homemade salsa, some store-bought chips and some pastries they could have passed off as their own had they bothered to make the effort and remove them from the styrofoam packaging.
But I digress... I went to Newish friend's house for Mom's Night (with said head cold, I might add) and was planning on having her over on Wednesday when Spawnling unleashed his evil upon my pillowcase. Yet, he hadn't thrown up all morning, so after sending her the obligatory 'PUKE ALERT!!!' message, we convinced ourselves that it was probably teeth and she came over anyway.
That evening, while I was holding him and baking bread, he released his demonic energy in a sudden explosion that flew out the side of his diaper, covering my shirt, pants and the kitchen floor. It reeked of things only found in the depths of hell and took not one, but two floor moppings to clean, but at least he felt better after that.
But hey, maybe it was teeth. Just teeth, right? Teething makes them rumbly in the tummy.
The next morning, Thursday, I called Mrs. Wailing to cancel our long-awaited get-together, as I was growing more concerned that this might be a little stomach bug and not just teeth. However, Mrs. W. assured me that Baby Wailing had gone through something very similar when he was getting the very same set of teeth and that it was probably safe to come by. So we did.
And I ate a breakfast sandwich once I got there.
And I felt a bit sick.
Then I felt a lot more sick.
And I knew something was off. Wrong. Slightly askew.
I went home early and had a lovely sitdown on the throne four times.
I had a bath.
I curled up in bed with Spawnling. I was quite cold.
I got up because it was time to get Gutsy from school. It took every ounce of strength I had to get both of us into the van. I was sweating and felt a little dizzy.
I called Geekster and told him he needed to come home. Like, now. Not after the meeting. Now. So very now that I had to let him go and pull over to the side of the road so I wouldn't black out while driving.
Damn.
I tried to call the school, but they had the kids outside so there was no answer. I pulled into the parking lot a couple of blocks from the school (the closest you can park) and looked around for a mom friend to wave over. I wanted to crawl in front of someone's minivan and feebly ask them to walk Gutsy from the school over to me because I wasn't sure if I could make the trip on my own. But, of course, there was nobody's van to crawl in front of, and I might have made them spill their latte anyway. Such a waste.
Getting an umbrella stroller and a baby out of a van when you feel like you can't even stand up is a feat in and of itself. I relied purely on mothering instincts. 100% gotta-get-my-baby-home-ness. I don't know what else could have kept me going like that.
Incidentally, umbrella strollers are horrible at supporting a 200+ pound woman with a stomach flu. Next time I suspect it's 'just teeth' I'm going to put the Benz of strollers from our collection in there. The one with big wheels and cushy padding on the handle.
I don't know how I made it there, but I do know that I sat down in the yard while one of my friends collected Gutsy and his belongings for me. I received a lot of 'are you ok?' and 'you look pale' comments. I wanted to reply with 'I'm never ok - I have three children' and 'No, this is just me working on my Michael Jackson costume for Hallowe'en, thanks' but I didn't have the energy.
We got back to the van, I strapped the kids in, put the stroller away, got behind the wheel, grabbed a pretty, red shopping bag and threw up into it countless times.
I came home, went straight to bed and felt a lot better by morning.
Oh, the joys of teething.
Must go pick up my sister and get a Pumpkin Spice Latte now. Apparently my teeth have come in.
If only I could stop drooling.