You're not welcome in my home, and I would ask that you vacate the premises immediately. Leave it to you to show up just after we've been forced to make a well visit to the pediatrician. We had to go to get some paperwork signed by the ped so that Beaker could get speech therapy, along with some other paperwork we'll need when we take him to one of his specialists in a couple of weeks for a follow-up visit. And yeah, our pediatrician has separate waiting rooms for well kids and sick kids, but they all end up in the same exam rooms, so it's hard to see the point. I'm pretty sure you hang out all over that joint anyway, so really, I guess there was no avoiding you. This is only the second time he's ever really been sick, and the first was a nasty head cold he caught when he was admitted to the hospital for a spider bite, of all things. It's annoying, but not at all surprising, that you seem to thrive in the very places that are supposed to be sterile and clean. And that's exactly why we don't normally do "well" visits. I know my kid is well--at least 'til I take him to see a doctor--and I don't need a doctor to confirm it.
To be fair, we also spent a fair amount of time at the playground on Saturday, surrounded by a bunch of little germ factories... erm... I mean children. But I'm doubting we met you at the playground, since the doc's office confirmed when I called them that you've been making a lot of appearances there lately, Mr. Stomach Bug. Thankfully, your symptoms are relatively mild thus far. He's a little lethargic and has almost no appetite, but otherwise, is in reasonably good spirits. Except when he barfs, of course. This morning's episode was actually his first "big boy barf," as I'm calling it... meaning it was like grown-up vomit, not just spit up. And he's had a couple more instances of his little belly starting to heave with minimal production (for lack of a better word), and that freaks him out a little. He gets this scared look on his sweet little face and starts crying, which is exactly what we all want to do when we're puking, right? His tummy's doing lots of gurgling, with the usual side effects that come with that, and once again, I'm feeling really, really thankful that I'm past the nausea stage of pregnancy--but I gotta' say, I've come close to revisiting those golden days a couple of times today.
Movies have been our saving grace. He's currently obsessed with Cars, but will occasionally allow us to watch Aladdin, and he has spent a good bit of time curled up on the floor or the sofa with his rubber duckie blanket that his Grandma quilted for him as a Christmas present. It's his movie blanket and also keeps him nice and warm on those rare occasions when he naps on the sofa, as he did today:
We're almost out of laundry detergent, so I'll be running to Target when Hub gets home from school, and then getting to work on the towels and clothes you've left in your wake thus far. I've missed an appointment with my midwife today as a result of your unwelcome presence (don't wanna' share you with any other pregnant moms), and I'm missing a board meeting for my birth professionals network as I type this. Tomorrow, we're supposed to attend an open house for the preschool where we hope to be able to enroll Beaker next year, and it's looking like I'll have to leave Hub home with him and go alone, which is obviously less than ideal because thankfully, Daddy actually cares where his kid goes to school. In summation, you are a pain in our asses, and we do not like you.
Let this be your warning: leave my kid alone, and don't you dare mess with the rest of us, including the little one I'm working so hard to build! We have things to do, and we don't have time for any more of your mean little games. Bug off already, will ya'?!?
One Mom
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