I am not a good sick person. Don't get me wrong, I am a hypochondriac through and through--but only with BIG things. Like heart attacks. Or appendicitis. And possibly blood clots while being pregnant (yes, I have been to the ER for those afflictions, and yes, all were proven false). So really, I only like to be sick when it's a trip-to-the-ER kind of thing. Not when it's a cold/flu thing. However, even given my best attempts at side-stepping all colds and flu the entire season, somehow a little something snuck through (I'm pretty positive I got it from either Target or the book fair at Connor's school--whenever I'm in those places, I literally see the place like you would under a microscope and all I see are GERMS, GERMS, GERMS...salmonella surprise, E.Coli, etc...).
This "sick" that has ravaged my system for over two weeks now could not be ignored any longer. I tried negotiating with it. I tried self-medicating it. I even drank my own weight in coconut water because I have this ridiculous idea that coconut water can basically cure everything. It didn't work. Last Friday, Dylan had the "you are sick, you need to see a doctor" talk with me. Of course I refused--and I adamantly insisted that I was FINE even though I was entertaining a fever that caused me to sweat through three outfits that day. I'm talking sweat running down my face, my "moisture-wicking headband" (RIGHT) soaked through, breathing heavily because I just made a freaking SANDWICH, kind of fever. I acquiesced and visited our local Urgent Care on Sunday and got...nothing. They ran a strep test, negative. They took blood to run a mono and CMV test but the results would take a few days.
Monday morning came and there was no denying that the fever was still in full force (and couldn't be brought down by much with copious amounts of ibuprofen or Tylenol). I made an appointment to see my PCP the following day. Trying to remember that visit is like piecing together a dream you had the night before--bits and pieces, so I was obviously delirious (see, this is where shit gets real people). She put me on an antibiotic and then proceeded to take 6 VIALS of blood--she wanted to test for mono, CMV and other "autoimmune diseases". Wait, what? While I felt a little better that I had an antibiotic, I became even more anxious about what else could possibly be wrong (Google "autoimmune diseases" and just TRY not to freak out).
I filled the antibiotic, bought more ibuprofen (and yes, coconut water) and valiantly tried to rest for three days. Dylan bowed out of a work trip to Texas so he could be home to help with the boys and the house. Here's the thing...I'm not good at resting. I was exhausted but my head was filled with rush hour traffic thoughts of what I needed to do or should be doing. When I would lay down, I felt like my chest was tight and a heart attack was imminent (I KNEW that wasn't going to happen, so no worries, I didn't call 9-1-1 or anything).
So, while I've been failing as a patient this past week, Dylan has been excelling at his adopted role of Mr. Mom. Bee napped consistently for Dylan, he ate and played and was generally happy as a clam. Connor was more helpful than ever and loved that Dylan was home before and after school. Now, Bee did have crusty food leftover on his face and clothes (which he would lick off at a later time) and he wasn't changed out of his jammies until sometimes the afternoon. But guess what? He survived! And I noticed a new confidence about Dylan--it was like he was thinking, "Ben Affleck has nothing on me suckas! I handle this with more fun, style AND all without a full-time nanny!!!" (I didn't mention the squash on the back of his shirt, the formula stains on his khakis or the fact that his socks didn't match, or the slightly-crazed look in his eyes around 5pm--after all, those just added to his allure).
My bloodwork still has not come back (which I'm trying to convince myself is a good thing, not that I've contracted some rare strain of malaria, typhoid fever, rubella...) and I'm on my third day of antibiotics. Besides the full-frontal assault the Cipro is doing on my digestive system (which I'm counter-balancing with daily probiotics), I'm hopeful that I'll be feeling back to normal soon. I miss singing silly songs to Bee, dancing with Connor to "Thrift Shop" and staying up late enough to watch a few shows with Dylan.
I'm really proud of my "boys"--they were great team players and wonderful support for one sick mommy.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Another Milestone For Bee...
Of course this happened on April Fool's Day--obviously, this child most definitely has a sense of humor. We can now officially add a new milestone in Bee's baby book. No, he didn't start walking. He didn't speak an entire sentence. He didn't write his first graphic novel and he most definitely did not make me a cup of coffee when he noticed mine was low. He did something even more amazing. He had his first public meltdown. At Target.
Here are moments leading up to the fateful trip...Bee takes a (way too short for my liking) morning nap, in his crib. He wakes up, get a dry bottom and a full bottle. We set off for Target, which is only about five minutes away. Once we get in the car and pull out of the garage, Bee poops. My car begins to smell like a dumpster mixed with a high school boy's locker room. The stench reaches all the way to the front. Of course, we are then stopped for construction. By this time, I'm gagging and my eyes are watering (WTF did I feed him last night?). Bee is starting to whine. Just as I contemplate putting the car in park and changing his diaper in the middle of stopped traffic, we get the go ahead to start driving.
Once we get to Target, I hustle Bee into the bathroom to drop the nuke off. Target bathrooms are GROSS, but we were about to make it even worse. I sent a silent prayer up that this particular diaper is staying at Target. I contemplate using the bathroom myself, but decide I'm better off not wasting the time and get out of there (BAD IDEA--had I known what would happen in the next fifteen minutes, I would've emptied my bladder right then and there).
We head over the the baby section. I grab a few things, then head over to the grocery section. Here's where it gets confusing to me...up until we hit the main food section, Bee was fine. Then all of a sudden, shit hit the fan (not literally, the kid was completely cleaned out from his earlier episode). Full on arching the back, kicking the cart, smacking the cart and screaming. I desperately look to see if his leg is stuck in the cart, but no...all limbs accounted for. No bleeding, no bruises. I look around to see if somebody pinched him without me noticing, nope. I look under the cart (hey, you never know)...nothing.
I'm trying to find something to distract him as I untangle him from the shopping cart seat cover (never before has fabric with a belt attached felt like a freaking Rubik's cube!). No dice, NOTHING is helping. I'm now sprinting down the aisle while pushing the cart with one hand and carrying Bee over the other shoulder. People are staring. I'm sweating like a mothertrucker. I feel like a wild animal running through a gauntlet of poachers.
When we get to the front of the store, I am faced with a gut-wrenching choice--do I pick the most important items from the cart, pay quickly and leave? Or leave with nothing? I choose to pick a few items and get in line. I transfer Bee to under my arm, legs kicking and arms flailing and throw said items on the belt.
I have no clue how much I spent at Target. I'm not even sure I got all the bags, let alone a receipt. I DO know that no rent-a-cop chased me out of the store, so I feel pretty safe in assuming I didn't steal anything or leave anything important behind--except of course, my sanity.
Getting Bee into the car was another ordeal. I may audition for Cirque de Soleil after all of the contorting I was forced into dealing with THAT--I was sweating profusely and breathing like I just ran the hurdles against a high school track team. After securing him in the backseat, I threw the stroller in the trunk and slid into the front seat and turned the AC on full blast. Partly because I WAS that hot, but the fans blowing on high and Justin Timberlake (yes, I said JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE!) playing on the stereo reduced the screaming in the peanut gallery to a somewhat tolerable level for the five minute drive home.
Here's where it gets really good--once we were inside our house, my little terror morphed into an angel. I don't know why. Perhaps Bee likes the way our house smells. I have no clue. And that is perhaps the most frustrating part of the whole afternoon. The fact that I don't know what precipitated the meltdown means that I can't prevent it from happening again. I can only imagine it was any number of things...
After our little dramatic shit show at Target, I thought the universe and it's April Fool's Day pranks were said and done. But, of course not. Since it was such a beautiful day, I put Bee in the stroller and we walk up to get Connor from school. The minute we round the corner of the cul-de-sac, a bird made a deposit on the top of the stroller. Thank goodness I had pulled the sunshade down--otherwise, the poop would've landed directly on Bee's beautiful head of hair.
April Fool's Day was very entertaining this year. I'm glad we got the first public meltdown out of the way early. After all, it gave me a very good glimpse into what I might be dealing with as Bee gets older. I also think I read somewhere that a bird pooping on you (or something you own?) is actually a sign of good luck. I'll go with that theory as my stroller sits in the garage while I mentally prepare to chisel the crap off later.
Never a dull moment.
Here are moments leading up to the fateful trip...Bee takes a (way too short for my liking) morning nap, in his crib. He wakes up, get a dry bottom and a full bottle. We set off for Target, which is only about five minutes away. Once we get in the car and pull out of the garage, Bee poops. My car begins to smell like a dumpster mixed with a high school boy's locker room. The stench reaches all the way to the front. Of course, we are then stopped for construction. By this time, I'm gagging and my eyes are watering (WTF did I feed him last night?). Bee is starting to whine. Just as I contemplate putting the car in park and changing his diaper in the middle of stopped traffic, we get the go ahead to start driving.
Once we get to Target, I hustle Bee into the bathroom to drop the nuke off. Target bathrooms are GROSS, but we were about to make it even worse. I sent a silent prayer up that this particular diaper is staying at Target. I contemplate using the bathroom myself, but decide I'm better off not wasting the time and get out of there (BAD IDEA--had I known what would happen in the next fifteen minutes, I would've emptied my bladder right then and there).
We head over the the baby section. I grab a few things, then head over to the grocery section. Here's where it gets confusing to me...up until we hit the main food section, Bee was fine. Then all of a sudden, shit hit the fan (not literally, the kid was completely cleaned out from his earlier episode). Full on arching the back, kicking the cart, smacking the cart and screaming. I desperately look to see if his leg is stuck in the cart, but no...all limbs accounted for. No bleeding, no bruises. I look around to see if somebody pinched him without me noticing, nope. I look under the cart (hey, you never know)...nothing.
I'm trying to find something to distract him as I untangle him from the shopping cart seat cover (never before has fabric with a belt attached felt like a freaking Rubik's cube!). No dice, NOTHING is helping. I'm now sprinting down the aisle while pushing the cart with one hand and carrying Bee over the other shoulder. People are staring. I'm sweating like a mothertrucker. I feel like a wild animal running through a gauntlet of poachers.
When we get to the front of the store, I am faced with a gut-wrenching choice--do I pick the most important items from the cart, pay quickly and leave? Or leave with nothing? I choose to pick a few items and get in line. I transfer Bee to under my arm, legs kicking and arms flailing and throw said items on the belt.
I have no clue how much I spent at Target. I'm not even sure I got all the bags, let alone a receipt. I DO know that no rent-a-cop chased me out of the store, so I feel pretty safe in assuming I didn't steal anything or leave anything important behind--except of course, my sanity.
Getting Bee into the car was another ordeal. I may audition for Cirque de Soleil after all of the contorting I was forced into dealing with THAT--I was sweating profusely and breathing like I just ran the hurdles against a high school track team. After securing him in the backseat, I threw the stroller in the trunk and slid into the front seat and turned the AC on full blast. Partly because I WAS that hot, but the fans blowing on high and Justin Timberlake (yes, I said JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE!) playing on the stereo reduced the screaming in the peanut gallery to a somewhat tolerable level for the five minute drive home.
Here's where it gets really good--once we were inside our house, my little terror morphed into an angel. I don't know why. Perhaps Bee likes the way our house smells. I have no clue. And that is perhaps the most frustrating part of the whole afternoon. The fact that I don't know what precipitated the meltdown means that I can't prevent it from happening again. I can only imagine it was any number of things...
After our little dramatic shit show at Target, I thought the universe and it's April Fool's Day pranks were said and done. But, of course not. Since it was such a beautiful day, I put Bee in the stroller and we walk up to get Connor from school. The minute we round the corner of the cul-de-sac, a bird made a deposit on the top of the stroller. Thank goodness I had pulled the sunshade down--otherwise, the poop would've landed directly on Bee's beautiful head of hair.
April Fool's Day was very entertaining this year. I'm glad we got the first public meltdown out of the way early. After all, it gave me a very good glimpse into what I might be dealing with as Bee gets older. I also think I read somewhere that a bird pooping on you (or something you own?) is actually a sign of good luck. I'll go with that theory as my stroller sits in the garage while I mentally prepare to chisel the crap off later.
Never a dull moment.
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