Sunday was day one, and by Sunday evening, my confidence level was pretty high. Not only did I bathe both boys, get them ready, shower and get myself ready (including hair and makeup!), pump, and make sure everyone was well-fed by 11am, I lugged both kiddos to a baby shower and two graduation parties! And remembered diapers, bottles, formula, sippy cups, etc. in order to keep everyone happy! Whew! I was feeling like quite the super mom. Sure, Brantley may have watched a few more Mickey Mouse Clubhouses than usual, but I did what I had to do!
Monday was low-key. I really don't remember much from Monday except Brantley asking "Where Daddy go?" about 189 times. "He's at work, in Boston," I would answer. Every.single.time. Oh yeah, Holden also slept from 10:45 until 5:45 Monday night. Seven solid hours! I can totally do this single mom thing, I thought!
Tuesday. 12:30. I had just finished my lunch, was breastfeeding Holden, and was then going to take a nap when I got a picture text from daycare with words that read, "Apparently Brantley doesn't feel well."
I wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or think it was a joke. Because nothing ever goes smoothly when Craig is gone. I headed out to get him and took him straight to our pediatrician's office. She said his throat was red and prescribed an antibiotic.
After laying around and napping all afternoon/evening, I thought maybe he was hungry. I gave him some blueberries and blackberries. (His favorites--I knew he'd eat them.) Big mistake. Big, big mistake. Shortly thereafter, he started throwing up. In case you were wondering, blueish-purple puke is not fun to clean out of carpet. Especially when the kid whose mouth it came from is unsure of what's going on, scared, and just wants to be held. And the other kid is crying in hunger and needs a boob.
Brantley threw up about six different times, in about six different locations in our house. And only once was it on the hard (read: easily cleanable) kitchen floor. I had already changed his bed sheet once and feared having to change it again (we only have two crib sheets for his room) so I made a nice "bed" for him on the bathroom floor. And that's where he slept until 3am.
Wednesday. Not any better. At one point, our thermometer read a temp of 106. The lowest I ever saw it go was 101. I chatted with our pediatrician's office again and our doctor prescribed Zofran for his nausea. The hope was that it would help keep the liquids and pain relievers down, and hence, his fever down. As suggested by my pharmacist friend (and go-to doctor), I also got some Tylenol suppositories. Let me just say this - you haven't really experienced all aspects of motherhood until you're puked on and have to stick something up your child's rear end. Not fun, my friends, not fun.
Meanwhile, I was terrified Brantley was going to pass his illness onto Holden. I sprayed Lysol like it was my job, obsessively washed my hands, and freaked out every time Brantley got anywhere near Holden.
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| Me trying to breastfeed with a sick kid |
Thursday. His morning fever of 101 broke after a round of ibuprofen. He acted somewhat normal all morning, though watched the same five episodes of Elmo and Mickey Mouse on the iPad about 11 times each. After a four hour afternoon nap (yes, four hours--I knew he was sick again when he slept that long), his fever was back to 104ish. More Tylenol suppositories and ibuprofen. And he was extremely fussy, whiny, and needy. He was, however, sucking down pouches of applesauce and eating some saltines, which were good signs in my tired eyes!
By that point, he'd taken a few doses of antibiotic (without it coming back up), though I had to pin him down and force it into his mouth, which broke my heart. He's usually good at taking meds, but I think he threw up so many times within that first 24 hours, he was scared of doing the same. I don't blame him...
Thursday night. Brantley cried (more like hyperventilated) for an hour and a half after I put him to bed. I went back into his room three times to comfort him, but he wasn't having any of it. Daddy even tried via Facetime. Meanwhile, Holden was screaming in the living room because it was past time to be fed. I seriously thought I was going to lose it.
Today. Friday. THE DAY THE HUBBY GETS HOME. Thank goodness, amen! Brantley woke up without a fever. Well, it was 99, but after having a fever of 105, I consider 99 to be nothing. He's been playing all morning and is now napping. I'm hopeful in saying I think the worst is behind us.
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| Me trying to pump with a sick kid |
I'm closing in on my last eight hours of being a single parent. I'm so ready for some help. Someone else to wash bottles, someone else to take over the 10pm feeding, someone else to help hold the babies, someone else to keep me sane.
There have been lots of tears shed this week. And not just from the two kiddos. But, I'm happy to report that I survived. And boy, do I feel good about that. I kept a clean house. Kept the bottles washed and sterilized. Kept our dog well-fed. Kept my tomato plants alive. Kept my milk supply going. Remembered to take out the trash and recycling carts. Heck, I even killed a spider. A larger-than-average spider, I might add. (And I'm not just saying that, Mom!)
The kids may have cried more than I liked, I may have perfected feeding Holden with a blanket-propped bottle, I may have fell short of the eight feedings per day quota, I may have brewed a cup of coffee without the cup underneath, I may have gotten more frustrated at times than I wished, and I may have complained more than I like*, but in Brantley's words, "I did it!"
*I'm usually not one to complain. Especially when it comes to my kids. I know some people would kill to simply have kids to take care of, sick or not. So, I apologize if this offends anyone and for the negative Facebook and Instagram posts throughout the week.
