Pooter has Lucy, a puppy he got from Nana and Pop for his first Christmas as a B-kid. Ladybug has her Baby, a gift from Granny when she was born. And the Bunny has her Lovey. Lucy, the Baby, and the Lovey are all incredibly important and, to the kids, irreplaceable None of my kids can sleep without their beloveds by their side, or under their head, or covering their eyes, as it is.
One day shortly after the Bunny made it clear she would never sleep again without her Lovey over her face, I scoured eBay and Amazon and every retail outlet with a web presence until I found replacements for the irreplaceable. As it turned out, Pooter’s Lucy was actually a Ty Classic named Scooter, but was retired, and the Bunny’s Lovey was from a company that had seemingly disappeared. In the end I found them all and spent way too much money on these items, only to shove them in a secret box hidden deep within the wild lands of Under the Bed.
The Bunny's Lovey
The Boy's Lucy
Because all of them have emerged to see the light of day this week.
Because their counterparts, the originals, have all been thrown-up on. Multiple times.
Also? I should have taken stock in Tide and Downey and Chlorox and Lysol a million years ago.
It started Wednesday night when my Ladybug asked her daddy if she could leave the dinner table to go to bed. She NEVER does this. A few minutes later I went to check on her and found her covered in vomit. And then she didn’t quit throwing up. For about 9 hours. I tell you, holding a dry-heaving-limp-noodle of a girl is something I could have lived my whole life without experiencing. At some point, I sent the Bunny (who had puked 3 times the last two days) and her brother to bed while I sat up with B2 and rinsed her yak bowl every 20 minutes. Ladybug and I stayed up until around 2:30 Thursday morning, when she finally fell asleep on the couch. (On the bright side, I got a TON of laundry done between her barfs.) (Also, there are lots of words for vomit.)
Jeremy left for work around 5:30 yesterday morning, then at 7:15 my own misery began. Jeremy’s mom took Pooter to school, I put the baby in her crib and Ladybug on the couch, and commenced my own up-chucking. At 9-something I sent Jeremy a pitiful email begging him to come home from work, lest the baby stay in the crib all day, and the girl on the couch, and me on the bathroom floor.
He came home. I took meds. He took care of the girls. I slept. He picked Pooter up from school. I puked. He did everything. I did nothing. I ventured out of my sick room last night only to hear, “Pooter just puked.”
I put the girls (and Jeremy, who, turns out, had been sick too, but with, um, other ailments.) to bed and tended to the boy. I tucked him in with a puke bowl and a glass of water and instructions to come get me if he threw up. Which he did. Three times. Each time I asked if he wanted to relocate to the couch and I’d sit with him, but he just wanted to stay in bed and try to sleep.
So, here we are. Friday morning. Full of pathetic.
It’s a snow day, and Pooter can’t even enjoy his day off. He is feeling better though, because he cried when I told him he could only have Sprite and Saltines for breakfast.
The Bunny baby is super-chipper, 100% better, and annoying us all.
Jeremy woke up early to drive to work in Little Rock, although I know he is exhausted, and still not well.
I am up and trying to move as little as possible.
Everyone on facebook is being so sweet and sympathetic, saying that we’ve had a rough winter. To recap: since October we’ve had strep throat, H1N1, pneumonia, mono, regular flu, double ear infections, mystery fevers, dehydration, and now, a nasty 24 hour bug. Yep. It’s been rough.
But, we’re forging through. Because, really. What else is there to do?