You know how much it sucks when your baby’s sick, and all you can do is hold her and tell her that everything’s okay, and to aim the vomit over here and not over here?

 

 

The entire nuclear fam’s been nursing colds for, like, two weeks now.  I finally convinced la dra. to take some Tylenol Cold Daytime and Nighttime (docs hate meds, dontcha know), and we’ve been giving The Pumpkin a triple cocktail of Tylenol infant drops, Pediacare cough infant drops, and kiddie Benadryl long enough that she looks for the bottles at bedtime.  (Bad parents!  Bad parents!  Hey, at least she’s over the sucking on the plunger/syringe-thingy like an addict that she used to do.)

 

But now we’re onto another phase.  Last night, the poor thing threw up her entire lunch (chunks of sauteed mushroom everywhere), then proceeded to through up the meager sips of Pedialyte we gave her after we ascertained that, no matter how much she said she wanted it, we’d better not give her any more food.  The first two times I was solo, and handled myself pretty well, I think, doing what I had to do, comfort-and-clean-up.  But as soon as la dra. came home and it was obvious that it wasn’t over, I became a moron.  She, on the other hand, was amazing to behold, comforting and caretaking with all the love and power that the word “mother” holds within its six letters.

 

The Pumpkin basically slept through the night, but woke up before 6 a.m. (hasn’t done that in a while) happy enough.  The order of the day was more Pedialyte, chicken broth graduating to chicken rice soup, and bananas later on.  I went out to gas up la dra.’s car and get coffee for us before she had to leave for work, and came home and the little pooper was already pooped.  That was the first of three (instead of the usual two) naps, the last of which she’s in the middle of right now.

 

She’s been great, actually.  No more throw-up, happy, playing, just tired faster.  Not too happy about being told “no” when she signs for milk or asks for “grah-gawr” (that’s “cracker,” people), but distractible.  Ate soup, devoured a whole banana.

 

But what about me, you ask?  Thanks for asking.  I can’t be sure I don’t have what she’s got, but I have a sneaking suspicion that my predicament has something to do with the large Mexican mocha I brought home for myself—and then drank sans Lactaid.  I keep pretending that I’m not lactose intolerant, ‘cause this is a pretty recent development (college, I guess?) and I only figured out what it was because la dra. has it too.  But I drink my regular iced coffee (which I turn lighter than me, which is pretty light) without it, so I forget.  But I don’t think my stomach forgot today.

 

So, before The Pumpkin wakes up, excuse me.  I gotta go...  Well, you know.