First, I need to backtrack a bit. Tuesday night at 9:00, I had just sat down on my chaise lounge that is the perfect reading spot, and opened up my nine hundred and something page book (thank you, Diana Gabaldon) when we heard a strange cough, then a shriek from Duncan's room. I went in and found him covered in vomit. It was on the crib, floor, rug, him. Poor baby was scared and crying (it's our virgin vomiting episode.) I picked him up, and he vomited again, all down my back and in my hair. Then again, down my front. Iain is with me, by this point, and we are freaking but not too much, so that we can get a plan in action. I take the boy, lay him on our bed and get his vomit soaked jammies off, then take my vomit soaked clothes off. Those of you who have pulled a previously sleeping, then vomiting toddler out of a bed know the looks we were getting from that face. I got on my robe then scooped him up where he collapsed in my arms, head on my shoulder, crying, just really wanting to be held. He vomited again on our rug. Nice. At least he missed the bed.
Meanwhile, Iain is scrubbing, changing crib sheets, starting the laundry and spraying Lysol. We get his crib clean, get him in clean jammies and get him back to bed. I go to bed on the twin bed in his room and end up with him in that bed with me, with neither of us getting any sleep all night because he has dry heaves.
Wednesday, he vomited at 8:00 a.m. and then not again all day. He was listless, cranky, and very sleepy. We spent almost the entire day on the couch, drifting in and out of sleep (me mostly out...) I had no coffee, almost no food, did not brush my teeth nor wash the vomit out of my hair. I brushed it out, and pulled it into a pony tail. Attractive!
By Wednesday night the diarrhea started, but it was not too terribly out of control. He had his bath and thankfully did not have any accidents in the tub. Need I elaborate? I think not. He stayed clean and slept all night. No diarrhea this morning! No fever! No vomiting!
Off to Mother's Day Out he went. He seemed fine, and they did not call me.
I got my blessed five hours to de-vomit the house and myself. I showered, and even blow-dried my hair which I rarely get to do. Take note of this. It will be important later.
I picked him up at 2:30 this afternoon and we were off to Target. Just as we got to the door, and I was about to put him in a cart he got a funny look on his face and vomited. All over me. And my freshly blow dried hair. Now, if you've never driven soaked in toddler vomit, you aren't missing much. I'm sure since it was my own toddler's vomit, I was not too grossed out. But still, it was upleasant and I was really pissed about my hair.
We got home, and I changed us both and he seemed to feel better. We sat and read books, went outside for a bit and blew bubbles. I could tell he was not his usual vibrant self, but he seemed okay. Until we came inside. I was holding him, when he got that same look and it happened again but this time I was ready and we leaned over the kitchen sink. After that, he curled up in my lap and fell sound asleep...worn out. Poor baby. We sat there for about 45 minutes, until Iain came home. Got him in jammies and rocked back to sleep.
Did I mention my freaking dishwasher still doesn't work? And I'm about to start my period?
So, tonight, I was going to crack open that novel again but decided to have a second gin and tonic instead, and post in my blog.