Okay, the password feature’s working for some, and not for others, and I’m one of the people it’s not working correctly for, so let’s do this:
This is one of those Mommy with yucky kid moment posts. Feel free to ignore it if you’re not into mommy posts or yucky kids. :cheesy:
The short kid saga continues.
Yesterday, he gave some signs of being on the mend, and he hasn’t actually been sick since Tuesday morning. Then he started backsliding. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t drink. He was sleeping too much. Lethargic. A little bit of diarrhea.
But, this flu is going around (it’s a bad one, too), and the doctor still didn’t think he needed immediate medical attention, so they gave me an appointment for this morning. About ten last night he roused, and talked and had some applesauce, and even went through the bedtime routine—story from Dad downstairs, then I read him one upstairs.
He slept in this morning. And if you’re a mom, you know how that goes. First, you’re relieved. Then you start wondering. Then you’re straining to hear any little noise. You really want to check on him, but you know if you open the door you’ll wake him up. And he’s probably just sleeping in.
Well, the time came when he had to get up, so the older boys could go to school. I opened his door, and the most godawful stench hit me.
I thought he’d died during the night.
(Writing that sentence has made me shake all over again.) I have no experience with the smell of death, other than the embalmed, powdered, perfumed smell of the funeral home. But I read alot, and watch a lot of TV, so I know there’s a bad, bad smell. My subconscious must have added the smell to the underlying worries of the last few days and jumped in a bad direction.
I must have yelled his name, because the poor kid was jerked awake, wide-eyed. We both came to the realization he’d suffered from a diarrhea attack in his sleep at about the same time. He thought I was yelling at him because he’d pooped in his pants. So he started to cry.
Now I’m trying to console him and explain that I’m not mad without explaining why I yelled. And, quite honestly, now that I know he’s still with us, the grossness of the situation is sinking in. So, with the poor munchkin jerked from sleep and weak, I’ve got to put him in the shower, and try to wash him with one hand, while supporting him with the other.
Ironically, he’s much better this morning. He’s had a few bites to eat, and he’s more himself personality-wise. We’ll still keep the appointment, though.
And the laundry. I keep waiting for a crash in the basement as my washing machine makes a break for it.