I've been slowly losing my mind for the past two weeks, which might explain why I haven't been blogging as much. I got a call on Thursday morning from the daycare saying that Z. had broken out in a full body rash. They wanted him to be picked up - pronto. I arrived a little before lunch time and the kids at the refugee camp were spread out on the floor, looking like they had been left in the exact positions they had fallen. Zac was in the lone crib in the room, designated for the one baby that hasn't started walking yet. That's my son - the non-walker, in the crib. He was laying on his stomach, hands and feet curled into his body, staring vacantly out between the bars of his crib. He looked miserable.
The only place I could get him into the doctor was down in south Houston, where my parents live. On the way down, my air conditioner decided that since I had a kid in the car with a fever higher than the temperature outside, (Z = 102, Houston = 97) it would be a good time to stop working. By the time I got him to the doctor's office, it looked like he was about to burst into flames. The sweat was rolling down his body, off his hair. My Mom tried to distract him with pieces from a wooden puzzle. It worked for a little while, until the doctor started pulling on his ears and looking in his throat.
Apparently, babies can get rashes when they have viral infections. I had no idea that this was the case. Baby immune systems are so foreign to me. If I had broken out in a full body rash at the end of being sick, I would be in the hospital - either because I needed to or just to make me feel better that I wasn't dying. There was a scary moment when the Doctor asked if I was up-to-date on Zac's MMR immunization (measles, mumps, and rubella). I'm not. We're one month behind, which left me to agonize, "MY PARENTAL NEGLECT GAVE MY BABY THE MEASLES!!!" Turns out, it didn't, and Z. is getting his immunization this Friday.
So, Z. spent the weekend with Grandma and Grandpa, who are also both sick. Fun was had by all, I assure you. I spent 2 1/2 hours at the Saturn dealership, waiting for an 'estimate'. Finally, after I complianed long enough, they called the repairs into the warranty folks and I got a rental car and left.
Sucks, sucks, sucks.
Car is fixed now and Zac's internal temperature is back below the boiling point for mercury.
For P., the supplier of all great oneies, a poop story:
Just to round out my insanity, the great Houdini pulled a good one on me this morning. He woke up in a great mood, sitting in his crib, playing with the stuffed rabbit that the FOB's Mom had given him for Easter. I picked him up and went to change him on the changing table. Looked around. Realized that the ointment for his very, very sore butt was downstairs in the living room, which was the last place I had tried to lasso him into a diaper and some clothes.
I put Zac on the floor, sans diaper, went downstairs, grabbed the ointment, came back upstairs. I was gone for less than 60 seconds. I open the door to his room and see him sitting next to a giant pile of yellow and green poop. He was just sitting there so sweetly that it took me a second to realize that the poop had actually come from him. Large, firm turds were scattered around, like he had been crawling and pooping at the same time, and then sat down next to it, looking guilty. I cleaned it up, diapered his poopy ass, and realized that I may never be sane again.