So last week was a week of many firsts. It started with a call from daycare and ended with me in bed with a fever.
Let’s start off by saying, when daycare calls, they are not calling to just chat, or tell you how amazing your daughter is at sucking her toes (which she is excellent at by the way) or ask you if you have finished binge watching “Defenders” yet on Netflix (Yes, Yes I have in fact. And, by the way, if you haven’t, go watch it, it’s amazing. Jessica Jones is basically Veronica Mars meets Superman mixed with a TV-MA rating. And if you haven’t watched Veronica Mars, then really, what are you doing with your life? Go, watch, now. I’ll wait.) Anyway, so if Daycare calls, it’s typically because something bad has happened – someone’s hurt, someone’s sick, there is a zombie outbreak, the children have tied up all of the teachers and are demanding a ransom of pacifiers. In our case, Abby had the magic number of diarrheas. I know what you are thinking – “there’s a magic number?” Yes, yes there is and that magic number is three. Yep, she had three diarrheas, which means, she needs to be picked up and needs to remain out of Daycare for 48 hours once the symptoms clear up. I completely understand the rules and have no problem agreeing to them, but you have to understand, I JUST started working again. John used most of his vacation time for paternity leave. If I took off more time, it would be at less pay. It’s a little heartbreaking to realize that. And, of course I was worried about my baby all at the same time. But I know her poop. She normally has “runny poop.” Luckily, her teacher knows our daughter (and her poop) too. She hadn’t noticed any changes in her mood – Abby was smiles as usual. So, we got a warning – phew. We basically spent the next two days trying anything to ensure she didn’t have three diarrheas in one day. Daycare is Monday through Wednesday, and my mom watches her Thursdays and Fridays. We just had to make it to Thursday. And then it was my mom’s problem (ha! – love you mom!)
Now that I have spent an entire paragraph discussing poop, let’s move on to Wednesday. So, we did it! We were in the clear. Wednesday, I dropped her off. She had no issues all of Tuesday and she was in bright spirits on Wednesday. Then, of course, I notice one of the other babies has a cold. And in a matter of seconds, Abby was, of course, chewing on a toy this girl had just finished chewing on. Thursday morning she wakes up with boogers down her nose and super congested. However, she was still smiling as Abby always does. I seriously wish I could smile through that much congestion. So Thursday and Friday she spent the days at my mom’s house, and spent the nights with us, sucking snot out of her nose. Seriously, how does something so small create so many boogers! This also meant she had difficulty sleeping, then, in turn, so did we.
So, Saturday comes, she’s still smiles and is reaching the end of the sickness. THANKFULLY! Then, of course, out of nowhere, it hits me. That afternoon, I’m achy, snotty, and basically every sickness related word that ends with a “y.” Thermometer reads 101.7 degrees Fahrenheit. Super! So I spent Saturday and Sunday basically lying on the couch, recovering. And in true the world hates you fashion, it was the nicest weekend I had seen in weeks. Now, I’ve had my fair share of sickness in my life. But this was probably the hardest because of Abby. I couldn’t comfort her when she needed me. She was hungry and usually one of us can soothe her while the other makes a bottle, but I could barely stand up. Plus, I didn’t want to expose her to even more illness. Then, on Sunday, John went out and we decided to have my mom watch her so I could recuperate. And I missed her ALL day. But I just had to sit there, and get better, knowing I couldn’t be with my baby. I wanted to be selfish because I wanted her to cuddle with me and soothe me and make me feel better. I didn’t even get to say good morning or goodbye to her that day. It was hard. I’m thankful that John took care of me and her while I was sick, and my mom watched her while I recuperated, but I missed her. Sometimes I just want to be selfish. I don’t get her that much during the week so the weekends I soak in as much time as possible, and I felt like I missed the entire weekend. And then of course, I feel terrible because if she had remained home, I risked infecting her more. No answer seemed correct.
But, when she came home, she smiled at me and let me hold her without squirming to roll around, as she normally does now. I think she somehow knew I needed it.
Here’s hoping this week is a little less exciting. Or, at least, involves less boogers and less poop.