Just Heather

My poor baby is sick. She spiked a fever last night and puked all over me. I don’t handle that well when I’m not pregnant. She slept with me last night so I could keep an eye on her and keep her fever down all night. I had no idea she was a sleep talker. She’s a light sleeper and prefers to be shut in her room all alone to sleep. This is the first time she’s really been sick, aside from numerous infant ear infections that we discovered were caused by allergies.

I think she may well be my worst patient ever—which says a lot considering the big baby I’m married to. Stacia is content to sleep off any illness and not bother anyone. Brenia is cranky, whiny, and not so good at the “taking it easy” part. She did, however, have some rather comical things to say:

  • I’m not sick; I’m fever.
  • My sick is bye-bye now.
  • I’m tired of sick.

Day three and I already get called to the school for an injury. Yesterday, as I was on my way to the school to drop off her daily allergy meds I got a call from the nurse first. Stacia fell on the playground and the nurse said she was screaming and crying pretty hard. This is not new. She screams when she gets a small scratch. I asked how it looked and was told it may be “borderline” for stitches. She said it was bad enough to call me so I went to take a look. While it was pretty gruesome, it didn’t look that deep.

I was thinking she’d be fine, but since last time I checked I never went to med school I called the pediatrician. She does sutures and liquid skin in her office. I’m thinking this will be easy, in and out of the doctor’s office. No such luck. With Stacia’s near-panic and the location of the wound we were sent to the ER—where they “have more nurses to help.” Yes, you could hear the terror in Stacia’s voice second-hand through the phone line.

Off we went to the ER—not that I told Stacia that. I simply said we needed to have a doctor look at it. She didn’t notice when we passed right by the pediatrician’s office or when I pulled into the parking lot marked “Hospital.” So far, so good. Then we get inside the door. Sometimes it sucks that she can read.

Emergency?! I am not going in there.”

I spotted the wheelchairs and offered to push her in. She limped her way to the chair and sat down for the ride. They took her right back and I was rather impressed. The speed ended there. An hour later, they covered her knee with “numbing gel” and said the doctor would be back in 10 minutes.

10 minutes became an hour. Her knee still wasn’t numb, or so she said. He added more gel and came back half an hour later. She laid in my lap and we covered her eyes. He started with a Q-Tip which had her reeling and screaming in terror. Obviously all that gel didn’t do shit. Needle it is. Oh, the horror! It worked wonders though and the stitches began while Stacia asked “what are they doing?”

When he got to the final stitch though, it was clear she wasn’t numb there. It is such torture to hold your child down and let someone inflict pain on her. Of course, it’s all cool now because everyone wanted to see her stitches at school today. She’s just mad she can’t do gym or recess for 10 days.

There is just something about small towns. I was driving down the road yesterday when a firetruck passed on the other side. The windshield said “Protectors of the Village.”

As for this village, we’re definitely not missing our idiot. I had to sit for an hour Monday with Spencer while he had his hand/thumb x-rayed. He fell off his skateboard. In the house. At midnight. Then he comes to bed, says not a word, and goes to sleep. The next morning when I asked why he stayed home from work, he says “I think I hurt my hand.”

Think? You mean the swelling wasn’t confirmation?

They took 3 different x-rays and still can’t tell if it’s broken. The doctor splinted it and plans to take more x-rays next week to see if there is a healing line. Then they’ll cast it. I knew something like this would happen as soon as he bought that damn thing.

This is why I insisted on full protective gear which, of course, he won’t wear in the house because it’s not like he’ll get hurt on the carpet or anything. I love you, you idiot.

This week has just been awful, thus the lack of posting. I still don’t quite feel like updating so you’ll have to deal with bullets:

  • Monday we went to a funeral. Spencer’s great-grandmother passed away over the weekend. She was 94 and lived a full life. I was always amazed at what she was doing well into her 90s. She was a sweet lady who adored my children—always a plus in my book.
  • Spencer is still sick. They ran several blood tests earlier this week, but can’t figure it out. They now have him on Zithromax and it seems to be working. I’m thinking it was just a particularly difficult strand of strep throat and the first antibiotic didn’t kick it.
  • All morning sickness all the time—I won’t go into details except to say that’s pretty much why I don’t post much. Something on the second floor makes me sick so I stay downstairs.
  • So much for laundry.
  • My first Brownie field trip was postponed. There will be no hiking in the rain for me. The girls did surprisingly well for our indoor activities considering the disappointment factor.
  • Stacia’s first soccer game of the season is tomorrow. I was so glad to hear the weather has cleared. They tell us repeatedly “soccer is an all-weather sport” which pretty much means prepare to sit in the mud.
  • Brenia is now officially known as Naked Baby. She has a new thing with spontaneous shedding of clothing. She likes to be “nake” and I just don’t have the energy to fight it. At least I’ve gotten her to quit including the diaper.
  • CBS just called to say they weren’t finished editing due to another out-of-town news story. The segment has been pushed back to next Friday night. Now I get to go about the process of calling those who were planning to watch me tonight—which pretty much includes everyone I know and lots of people I don’t.

CBS just called and it seems they are finally ready to come. In two days. If you could see my house right about now you would laugh out loud! I’ve been so sick (and tired) for weeks. Hubby has been sick for a week. The place is well and truly trashed. I have a day and half to get it television ready. Not to mention finding a suitable outfit.

I think I’m gonna be sick.

Be sure to wish the love of my life a happy birthday! Poor guy has strep throat on his birthday so it’s not starting out well for him. Head on over and give him some love!

It starts with next to no sleep because I decide my ear doesn’t hurt that bad anymore. No reason to take Tylenol PM 4 nights in a row. I wake up to a snotty, whiny baby. I get some medicine in her and we’re just settling down to nap cuddle when the phone rings. I get the poor baby dressed, buckle her up and make the trek to the Humane Society.

This where I retrieve my dog for the bargain price of $45—which includes the price of a mandatory microchip—and promptly lock my keys in the car. To my credit, I distinctly remember putting them in my purse. They had to have fallen out when I picked up the leash. This is no comfort while we wait 30 minutes in the lobby of one of the saddest places on earth, which sits right next to juvie. Spectacular view.

Fast-forward to this evening. I’m starting dinner and baby is apparently not sick enough to stay on the couch with a sleeping daddy. First she locks me in the garage when I go out to the freezer. Never fear, that’s why I keep a key out there. Then she picks today of all days to learn how to unlock and open the sliding glass door all by herself. So where’s my $45 dog?

I don’t know either.

Our idiot dog took off last night, chain attached and all. We looked for him, but he was no where to be found. My thought was someone found him and brought him in since it was cold and late. He has tags with our number on it. I was expecting the call I got this morning, but not quite the way it happened.

On the other end was not a nearby neighbor asking us to come get the dog, but the Humane Society telling me I can pay a $40 “return to owner” fee when I drive all the way to the next town to get him.

In what mind was it easier to drive 15 miles with a dog than to call the phone number on his handy little tag? Also? His chain is not with him. Which means that not only do I have to load up a sick baby, drive across town, and pay $40, I also get to buy a new chain and stake.