This week has kicked my butt and then some. I had previously been riding on a high horse, all like, "Oh, look at me! I'm untouchable! I'm patient with my kids lately, I feel like I have a handle on my life. Ho, ho. UNTOUCHABLE."
I have since learned the error of my ways.
So, I told you about how last Friday night, Todd and I ducked out for an overnight to celebrate my birthday, right? And how, by the time we got home the next morning, Rocco had started some kind of barfing shenanigans? The actual vomiting was limited to a few hours that day, and by Sunday, though he was running a fever and was super cuddly/clingy, he seemed to be on the mend.
I figured it was just another stomach bug going through (our third in the past six weeks, mind you), and therefore I figured the other kids wouldn't likely come out unscathed. I was right, and by Monday afternoon, all four of the other kids were out for the count. Everyone was dealing with digestive pyrotechnics, one kiddo even trying to aim both ends of their stomach activity into the toilet at the same time. It was a dismal failure, as I'm sure you could have guessed, and it required a follow-up discussion on where, exactly, to barf if you're already pooping. (Into the tub, if you needed that clarification yourself.)
The biggest three spent the day alternating between barfing and sleeping. Laurelai sidestepped the GI issues until late afternoon, at which point her "illness" button switched to "ON: VERY ON" and she was puking every ten or fifteen minutes for the next twelve hours.
But then it didn't go away. Rocco was still sick, and even more lethargic, on Tuesday. He slept about 23 of those 24 hours, was awake long enough to cry about being tired and refuse a bottle, and then he would go right back to sleep. I was getting seriously concerned for him, as well as Laurelai, who developed a deep chest cough and high fever that kept her up all night. I was worried it might turn into pneumonia.
By Wednesday morning, Finneas couldn't control his bowels at all, Rocco woke up in a puddle of his own puke, and Laurelai's fever was so high she wouldn't even sit up in bed. I called Todd and asked him to come home and cover for me so I could take the little two to urgent care. I'm glad I called for backup because the visit took two and a half hours - after first being turned away by one clinic because they didn't take our insurance, I drove to another one, where they did all kinds of swabs and waited for lab results and did chest xrays and had the doctor come in multiple times, etc etc etc. Both kids fell asleep in the exam room in the middle of it all, which tells you how sick they were. At the end of it all, strep, influenza, pneumonia and RSV were all ruled out, with some suspicion that we're dealing with Rotavirus. (It would have taken a stool sample to know for sure, so I was positive I didn't want to even attempt knowing for sure). Blech.
Yesterday was more of the same: explosive diarrhea everywhere, tons of laundry, lots of naps. Although Rocco did start eating and drinking a bit, which was the first time in days he would touch anything. He ate some rice and a couple of bananas throughout the day, and while he adamantly shunned both water and apple juice, he would outright chug chicken broth from a bottle.
By last night, I was just so mentally and physically spent that I asked Todd if I could run to the library for a bit, just to get out of the house. If you know me at all, you know I am a total homebody, and leaving the house is never an appealing idea, regardless of circumstances. However, I hit that point last night, and just sat on the floor of the library, in the architecture aisle, in the quiet, under the ambient lighting, and texted with my sister. That's all I did. Because I just needed to.
Which brings us to today. I have limited hope that things will be much better yet, since Finneas started throwing up again last night, and Atticus started running a fever. BUT. I did at least get all this week's horrible, dirty laundry done AND folded AND put away (a feat that only took about three hours, NBD), so I'm at least ahead of the game there.
And while there wasn't a huge amount of 'non-illness' news, there were at least a couple items of note.
I turned 31, and spent the day reading Harry Potter snuggled up to one of my favorite reading pals.
Finneas, before he got sick, was really riding the tuck pretty hard for some major fashion glory.
Also, he spent time nature journaling and I DIED AT THE CUTENESS.
And I'm now 28 weeks pregnant, and starting to realize that the time is flying. I'm in full-on panic mode.
Aaaaannnnd that was our week. Whew.