Sick Day

Baby girl has her first case of strep. At least that explains the last few feverish nights, which didn't have me overly worried until we hit 103.8. That was a new record for her, and not in a good way. After a marathon day of a doctor's office visit, a hospital visit for a 'precautionary' (is that a word?) chest x-ray, trips to the pharmacy to fill and refill prescriptions, and home to care for a very clingy sick babe, I'm pooped. Literally, in fact.

Today I have been peed on, pooped on, snot on, slobbered on, smeared with soggy cheerios, and covered with pureed apples and cherries as well as dribbled with amoxacillin. Hayden's clothes have had similar treatment, and between the two of us, we're quite a colorful mess.

I have spent the last 6 hours trying to balance my baby on one hip and my laptop on the opposite knee. Hayden's been amused with any and all kitchen utensils that I didn't think could cut her, or that she could swallow or otherwise injure herself with. My kitchen, which is supposed to be the setting of a wedding cake creation this week, looks like a very small but virulent bomb hit it. There are dirty dishes scattered across the counters, pots, pans, plastic bowls and all manner of spoons and spatulas trailed across the floors and cheerios in various stages of digestion in every nook and cranny. I've worked all evening, and barely managed to catch up on email and get one video edited and posted. I have no idea how stay at home moms accomplish anything other than surviving the day.

On a happy note or two, Hayden figured out how to hold her sippy cup on her own today, and also how to override the 'spill-proofness' (again, not sure that's a real word) of the device and bang it hard enough (upside down, of course) to shower everything in a 3 foot radius with grape juice. Serves me right for serving her grape juice, I'm sure, which probably ranks right up there with crack on the 'list of things never to give your child, lest they become addicts'. Yes, I gave the kid juice. It was a bribe to get her to not wail her little lungs out at the doctor's office today, since she's finally figured out that those people are going to torture her and begins her anxious wailing the moment she sets eyes on them.

Seriously, though, if you read this and have an issue with juice, you probably should pick another blog. I'm a pro-whatever-the-living-hell-works mom, which means there's not much I won't do or try to soothe my kid when she's having a meltdown, or to get her to sleep, or to make it through a public event with as little negative attention as possible. Not that I think anyone that reads this blog has an issue with juice. Mostly because I'm pretty sure there are like 3 of you out there, and I know better. Just pre-empting the hate mail strikes when I become rich and famous. That sound you hear? Me. Laughing my head off at the mere possibility.

I need to run. My second-string QB needs a pit stop (yes, I mixed the metaphor. Your point?), which means I need to get back to my balancing act. Have a lovely evening.