Thursday, April 14, 2016
I'm wondering what sort of notarized official document needs to happen to divorce my house from the germs, because holy heck. I am DONE.
Monday showed up with a delightful gift of strep for the second time in three weeks (Ruby).
Tuesday showed itself the door after leaving Luca with a faucet nose and a cough to match.
Wednesday was the day that I completely lost my mind with the sudden onset of drama - our poor little Dexter Dog has joined the germ party and has somehow picked up giardia. It remains a mystery how he would have gotten this, but I can assure you from watching him, it's nothing anyone ever wants to have or to clean. I spent yesterday juggling a sick baby, sick dog, and the complete routine of disinfecting the house (Jimmy did the yard).
And by golly, how could Thursday be left out of these shenanigans?!
Midnight brought puking from Luca. Hours and hours and hours of puking. Enough towels, bedding, and clothing for five loads of laundry. And he isn't done. I have literally never seen so much vomit, and you know how it is with a baby that has absolutely no concept of puking into something -- chasing the heaves with a cupped towel in hopes of saving everything around you. Everything is calculated - how quickly can I move him away from all bedding, all carpet? Analyzing every breath, in case its the onset of more throwing up. He has had four baths at this point. And that's been the minimum that I could get away with.
We have moved into painful territory in terms of the amount of Sesame Street that we have watched.
My couches are housing just about every towel and linen that I own. Sadly, the washer is still running, and the laundry is not caught up.
I have not slept in two days.
And the puke. Oh, the puke.
And if you could imagine the way a conversation (and by conversation, I mean 893 discussions) with a very busy boy about how we have to stay still on the pile of towels - you can imagine the resulting gray hairs.
Waving the white flag here. Friday, you know what to do.