Saturday, March 08, 2008

Warning: details of explicit bodily functions revealed

It has been the worst week of your life. On Monday evening, Nigel and Jessica stopped by for a bit. You were playing with the cow when I asked where meatballs come from. Your odd reply, "Cows poop little meatballs out their bum." Ewww. Shortly after that, you walked over to me and threw up. It seemed like a minor blip so you went back to playing with our guests while Dad and I cleaned up.

Right after everyone left, the real fun began. Non-stop vomiting all night. Okay, not all night but every few minutes until 10 p.m. and then every hour or so after that. Dad stayed home Tuesday. Tuesday and Wednesday were your worst days because that's when the diarrhea began. We were up to our armpits in sludge-like poop and acidic vomit. The washing machine barely stopped running, full of towels and sheets and clothes and bathmats.

The saddest part was that for over two days, you were so weak that you couldn't smile, walk or talk.

At 5:28 a.m. on Thursday, you woke up after sleeping 94% of the previous 60 hours and said, "I feel better now. Warm milk!" And you kinda did feel better, but it sure wasn't over. It seemed every time I picked you up you'd puke on me or fill your pants with the foulest-smelling mud. You could walk, but not far without tipping over.

Fortunately Dad was home with you again on Friday. You took it easy. You scared me when Dad phoned me at work in a panic to tell me you'd been howling in pain for half an hour, saying your bum hurt, but you must have just been tired. You passed out in the high chair while Dad was getting you warm milk so Dad didn't need to phone me back and tell me to come home. Of course, that warm milk came back up in an obscene quantity just as we were going to sit down for supper, soaking me, you and landing us in the shower. (And before that you produced the oddest-looking white poop in the toilet, but at least it was solid. White, I assume, from the only thing you will drink, milk.) After all the bodily expulsions, you felt good enough to eat something, the only thing you'd eaten in four days - tomato soup. Except you spilled your first bowl of soup all over your very clean and fresh pajamas. So is the mess that our week has been.

Today has been good. You woke up at 6:15 a.m. demanding donuts of all things. Kept saying, "Let's go make donuts, Mom." You are chipper and funny, yelling at Dad and picking on Skye like you'd never missed a beat. You ate breakfast, a few bites of egg and bacon smeared with peanut butter. You took a couple bites of soup for lunch. You were very excited to add to the grocery list: ice cream, watermelon, donuts, chips, butter, hot dogs and noodles. As soon as we got home, you had chips, a hot dog, some sour cream and corn at supper, a sprinkle donut for dessert and a little bit of watermelon for bedtime snack. Yes, not the healthiest choices but I'd do anything to make you happy today.

I'm so glad you are feeling better.

sprinkle donut.jpg

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