What a week it has been. Last Wednesday Ben woke up quite sick. Sore throat, sudden vomiting, general yucks. I banished him to the basement and after a couple days he started to feel better. That same week Jack had disgusting diarrhea, but no other symptoms. Add in a couple wet beds, daily blow-outs from Sam, and I felt like I was living in a cesspool.
(Going for a walk, waiting for Dad to come home from work Tuesday)
Thursday Sam got shots and did not recover as well as Jack used to. For the rest of the day he was shrieking whenever awake, refusing to eat too. Ugh. He was sleepy immediately after the appointment, allowing me to take the boys to a play group organized by a girl at church. It was so fun to be around others with young kids.
These three were all born within a couple weeks.
By the way, Sam was 14 pounds 12 ounces, which is 91st percentile. He was 25 inches long, which was literally off the chart, beyond 100%. The girl on the right was born the day after Sam and had her appointment that morning too. She was 8 pounds 6 ounces, and weighing less than 30th percentile. Funny to have them next to each other.
By Friday things were looking up. We gladly accepted our friends' offer to babysit - Sam's first time being left with non-family members. Ben and I had a thoroughly enjoyable couple hours watching the new Thor movie. Saturday night we had the Arcands over for dinner. Thai take-out for grown-ups, mac and cheese for the kids. As I think I mentioned, Nora and Jack are just a month apart in age, and Henry and Sam were born the same weekend. So fun! Nora and Jack are fantastic playmates.
Sunday felt kind of normal. Ben was mostly healthy. We went to church. I made cookies. It looked like we managed to quarantine the illness.
(I like Miranda's term for photos taken during church: Irreverantgrams)
But overnight I heard Jack coughing while I was nursing Sam next door at 3 AM. Monday morning Jack said he felt fine, even though he overslept by an hour (and thoroughly wet the bed again). He was rubbing his eyes during story time, but still played. He was stoked about the excavator that the guest reader, the county commissioner, brought for the kids to explore. He coughed once more on the drive home, but said he was fine.
After story time we high tailed it to the pediatric dentist, where Sam had an appointment for a frenectomy. He did great. The dentists agreed he was mildly tongue tied (same as his pediatrician, who referred us) and poo poohed the risks raised by my mom. She and my dad had teamed up to dissuade me from "mutilating our grandson." Sorry folks, but I went through with it. Sam got righteously angry after the clipping, as expected. He hardly bled, "tis but a flesh wound" said the dentist. I nursed him right away and by the time we left the office he was smiling. Feedings since then have gotten easier and easier, as he lets go of those bad habits. The pain I had is gone, and he's less gassy. This morning he was downright jolly.
Back to Jack. I had plans to bring the family to dinner with Amanda. Ben got home exhausted, and offered to stay home with Jack so I could have an easier meal out with Amanda. Sam came, and I enjoyed a delicious, healthy sandwich and soup at ModMarket, followed by a holiday milkshake from Chick-fil-A. During our meal, I received a series of text from Ben:
"Something ain't right with Jack"
"He seems sick"
"Just so tired"
And he's suddenly gotten very quiet and whispery"
"Full on barfing"
I was so glad Ben kept him home instead of having that scene in a restaurant. Poor guy was shivering with a fever when I got home. I just wanted to cuddle him, but I desperately want to keep Sam and me healthy so I kept my distance. Jack went to bed early last night and slept well. Today he is super emotional - cried three times before 9 AM. But the toast and juice were happily eaten and his fever is gone. We have plans to watch Despicable Me and Cinderella, a long nap, and if all goes well, a trip to the grocery store.
Knowing my luck I'll get this cold/flu/whatever right in time for Thanksgiving. I'm washing my hands obsessively to try to keep that from happening.