I guess it is a bad sign when only four people look at your blog in two days. I guess that is a hint that I should update more often. Unfortunately, I've been sick. Zac has been sick. We've been sick together. There is nothing worse than being sick with your progeny except for maybe crawling into a cold, damp cave where no one can come and save you.
Last week, just as my throat was closing up, we noticed that Zac was crying when we held him, and then cry even more when we put him down. Certainly, a clear sign of an ear infection. By the time we got him to the doctor's, he had two ear infections (one in each year) and a raspy, chest cold. The doctor put him on antibiotics and a decongestant, and pronounced him, if not cured, than at least good to go.
Three days later, I've completely given up my diet for chili cheese nachos, cookies, and anything that might be vaguely labeled "comfort food". As Grandma was giving Zac his antibiotic this morning, he exploded all over their bed in an eruption of chalky, white liquid and stomach bile. Scary enough to do, but even scarier when your own vomit hits you head and clogs up your nose. He started crying like no one's business. Grandma cleans him up and takes him to daycare. At 12pm I get a call from the daycare provider, saying: "Zac has had five bowel movements. Just wanted to let you know." Well, that reminded me of the good ol' days at Kindercare where they would call me every couple of hours, to update me on my son's intestinal fortitude. Two hours later I get another call. "Zac just had two more bowel movements and no wet diapers. He's all red in the face. You need to come pick him up."
I jumped out on the freeway and made it to her house in record time. Cherry cheeked and playing on the floor. I got him home and into the Baby Bjorn (also known as the only way to stop him from crying when he's sick). He leaned over the side of the Bjorn and threw up. Whole, stomach heaving, crying, Pedialyte-laden vomit. He fell asleep, only to wake up an hour later, take some more Pedialyte and throw up in my arms. All over me, himself, the blankets, and then shat. Called the doctor again. She said that I needed to give him 1 tsp of Pedialyte every two minutes, whether he liked it or not. Let's just say that he didn't like it.
I heard him poop again (what number was that today? nine?) and I layed him on the floor to change him. Apparently he wasn't done yet (this is for you P!!!). A stream of greeninsh, brown shit shot out of my son's ass and hit my leg, followed by two secondary, smaller streams of liquid poop. I started screaming. I just couldn't help myself. My Dad, already concerned about Zac's health, started getting concerned and yelled, "What's wrong? Is Zac ok? Why are you screaming?" People, I just kept screaming. There really is no appropriate response to being forcefully pooped on, even by someone you love. Finally, I managed to gasp: "He just....pooped....on....me". I changed his diaper, then changed myself, shuddering. That's twice for the vomit and once for the poop during the course of three hours. Mother-of-the-year Award, here I come.