Friday, February 02, 2007

Monsters in our tummies

I had a baaaad feeling all day at work when the call came in at around 3 pm that Elizabeth was puking her guts out and could someone please pick her up and get her the heck out of here (not in so many words), I was less than surprised.

Two days before that, Dylan puked in his crib over night. We woke up Wednesday morning to a baby covered in puke. Gross does not even BEGIN to describe that scene.

I just figured he got sick from the cold medicine cocktail we had given him before bed, cough medicine + ear infection antibiotics + motrin for the unbearable baby sized pain.


Apparently, he had what his sister got yesterday, raging crazy stomach bug.

Bob was the closest to the daycare that afternoon, so he picked up the kids, calling me along the way to let me know that Elizabeth was puking all over my car (he had my car because earlier that morning, I slid it into a ditch on an ice-covered road, but that's a whole OTHER story).

Yeah! Puke in my car!

I assured him he could handle it, and warned him not to give her anything to eat or drink until I got home with gallons of Pedialyte.

He called later to say that she had "tricked him" into giving her a Capri Sun, which she was currently harfing into a bucket.

"Don't let her trick you!!" I admonished.
Though, she is hard to resist and she IS building quite a career out of trying to talk us into things...or at least attempting it ad nauseum until we break down..."Fine FINE! Here's the damn Capri Sun! But you're gonna puke it all up!!" I imagine that's how it went.

I raced through Safeway flinging the various components of the B.R.A.T. diet into my cart along with the Pedialyte. I dropped my last $20 on the stuff, money I was glad I stuffed into my jeans pocket that morning since I had forgotten my wallet at home for the second time this week. Geez! I better not be pregnant, 'cause that's total preggo brain right there. I'm probably not, calm down.

I get home to Elizabeth hunched over a bucket spitting up foam. Bob is beside himself with craziness and Dylan has smashed his head on the coffeetable, giving him a nice cut, bruise and band-aid to hide his injuries from CPS.

Dylan went to bed not long after I arrived, Bob went back to work on a side job.
I felt confident that I would not get sick, since I had survived thus far! I even bragged to my mom over the phone (all while I'm getting more and more tired and not noticing) that I felt "Great!" just fine.

Yeah...instant karma really got me.
An hour after getting off the phone with mom I was doubled over with stomach cramps. Elizabeth and I holed up in my bed where I repeatedly called Bob with grocery orders and requests for an ETA:

Get me ginger ale!
Ohhhhhh, get me ginger ale! I'm dying! When are you coming home? Are you leaving yet? Where are you? Hurry!!!

By the time Bob got back, all three of us were passed out in my bed - Dylan included. Bob put Dylan back into his crib and handed out ginger ale, Maalox and encouragement before retiring to the couch to try to avoid the sickness.

Elizabeth and I were up on and off all night, puking, taking sips of drinks and writhing in crampy agony.
I was getting the chills and sat in front of a space heater and Elizabeth came over to me, put her arm around me and said:
"You gotta monster in your belly? You're cold? Sit here. Warm your butt up."

As she patted me on the back, I almost felt like I WOULD get better.
But no.

I'm still cramped up. Elizabeth seems recovered.
Dylan is crying, but otherwise fine.
He just dumped soggy frosted mini wheats all over himself and the sight of it is making me want to puke. Gotta run.


Chris said...

I hope you guys feel better soon. That can't be fun.

Jessica said...

I'm better, Elizabeth SEEMS better...
Dylan puked four times at the Super Bowl party yesterday, three times on the kitchen table (projectile style) and once all over me.
Good times.
Go Colts!