Sweet Brown thought she had it bad with the bronchitis. She should have spent this past week at my house. The phrase of the weekend was “Seriously? SERIOUSLY?!”
I don’t want to focus on the negative, but I just had to write this all down so that I can come back and reflect next time I THINK I’m having a rough day. As I write this I am doing a little happy dance because things appear to be back to normal.
Without further ado, the details of the past week in all it’s glory:
Tuesday PM: Supposed to be Brian’s last night home before working an OT shift on Wed & then going out of town on Thursday for three days… instead he gets called out right as we finish dinner. At the time I thought, “oh, bummer… one more night without Bri around.” Hindsight tells me that this was a bad omen, foreshadowing the chaos that was about to ensue. If I could go back in time, I would have clung to his ankles singing KWS’s “Please Don’t Go” at the top of my lungs.
Wednesday AM: I got up early, showered, & finished my bible study (Translation: I was ON THE BALL… never a good sign. Pride always comes before the fall). We took Ben to school, came home to have breakfast, and were about to leave for Bible Study when I smelled the most awful smell. I took Noah upstairs to change his diaper and when I laid him down, squishy watery poop went EVERYWHERE. We are talking knee caps to shoulder blades. I picked up the entire changing pad, with the child on it, and headed straight for the bathroom. Bible study was out of the question. This was Poo-plosion #1.
We spent the rest of the day at home. We watched movies and cleaned the house and endured Poo-plosion #2 (which was just as disgusting and dramatic as the first one.)
Next came Thursday. Thursday is when stuff got real.
Thursday AM: Woke up and got Ben ready & packed up. Dressed Grace. Walked into Noah’s room to grab him so we could run Ben over to school. The smell hit me as I touched the door handle. Poo-plosion #3 – in the crib. Bedding, baby, Fievel the Mouse, Rambo… nothing had escaped the Bog of Eternal Stench that was oozing out of Noah’s pajamas. (In a crisis, people always say “take a deep breath” but breathing may have killed me, so that wasn’t an option.) I quickly repeated the bath/disinfecting routine that I had perfected yesterday. I left the crib & it’s components for dead because we were already late getting Ben to school. I yelled to Ben & Grace to get in the van as I came racing down the stairs with Noah. I thought to myself, “Now would be as good a time as any to come crashing down the stairs while holding a toddler”, so that’s exactly what I did. Poor Noah was completely freaked out and sobbing, but I just bounced up and put him in his car seat so that we could get Ben to school.
When we got home, I tried to stand Noah up and he refused to put any weight on his right foot. This is when the sweepstakes people rushed in with my Mother of the Year Award. “Oh, sweet boy, does your tummy hurt? You know what will help? Mommy will smash your foot, rendering it useless. You’re welcome.”
At this point I called in sick to work, took Grace to pre-school, then brought Noah home. I gave him some Motrin and put him in his (now clean & aired out) bed and he slept for FOUR HOURS. Brian came home at lunch to pack for his hunting trip. I filled him in on Noah’s foot and the persistent diarrhea. He looked into my eyes, his face filled with love and concern, and told me he would see us on Saturday.
Thursday PM: Noah still won’t put any weight on his foot – it is terribly swollen. Ben has gymnastics. I dropped him off at the front door and then the little kids & I found a parking spot. We rolled down the windows and turned off the van. Fast-forward 1 hour and I tried to start the van to drive around to pick Ben up. Van is dead. Flag down grandma parked next to me to ask her if she will give me a jump. (Thank the Lord that I paid attention last time the truck died so that I would know HOW to jump start a vehicle.) Head home, feed & bathe kids, collapse on couch.
Friday AM: Van is dead again. Call neighbor to bring Ben to school. Ask friend to come by later to jump start van again. Take little kids to Wal-mart to replace battery. Kill time for an hour (ever mindful of the status of Noah’s diaper) only to find out that the battery is fine and the cold must have “zapped it.” Noah poops as we leave. Change diaper and clothes in the back of the van before heading home.
Friday afternoon: Noah’s doctor appointment. This took place over the course of 3.5 hours, most of which involved me sitting alone in a 6x9 foot room with a chatty & hyper active Grace and a crippled, cranky, poopy Noah. During this time I changed so many diapers that I ran out. At one point I had to bathe Noah in the exam room sink. When we left, he was wearing a newborn diaper that I procured from the baby weigh station. It looked like a string bikini. There were X-rays and consults and talk of casts and pins and pediatric orthopedists. We finally got out of there at almost 6pm after fitting the little guy with a gauze-wrapped splint.
Friday evening: Young Life girls brought over pizza & helped with the kids. Against my better judgement, we stayed up until 2 am watching movies & laughing.
Saturday AM: Stumble into kitchen like a zombie. Make yummy pancakes for kids & YL girls. Poo-plosion #435. Remove Noah’s splint for disinfecting bath. Say bye to girls. Stare at clock, waiting for Brian to come home.
Saturday PM: Brian comes home. Spend rest of the day bubble bathing/napping/pretending I don’t know my kids.
Sunday: Brian goes to work. Ben wets the bed. Wash ben’s sheets. Noah has a coughing fit and throws up on himself. Clean up Noah. Grace complains of a tummy ache then throws up on herself and the couch. Bathe Grace. Disassemble & wash couch cushion. Everyone naps. Grace wakes up, walks downstairs and pees on herself. Clean floor and bathe Grace again. Stare at clock, waiting for Brian to come home. Celebrate at the end of the day because we didn’t have a single poo-plosion. Pray that both kids throwing up was just a fluke.
Monday AM: Everyone is feeling great, with the exception of Noah’s foot. We went to Grace’s dance class and then had a picnic lunch and fed the ducks in Boerne.
Monday PM: Took Noah to a pediatric orthopedist.
Diagnosis = first metatarsal is crushed.
Treatment = wearing a cast for 4 weeks.
Noah says...
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AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!
Needless to say I am thankful that this week is over! Now if somebody would just get me a COLD POP! :)
