I got home at midnight Monday night. It took me awhile to wind down enough to sleep. When I went to bed I scooped Amarys out of her bed and woke her up so that I could smell her hair and squeeze her little body, and she looked at me all bleary eyed and said, "MILK." It was hilarious.
The following night at midnight I was just wrapping up to go to bed, when out walks Riley, wailing. His hair all plastered to the side of his head with puke. Poor baby barfed in his sleep. I wiped him down, put him in the bath, and cleaned up his bed. I put the sheets in the washer on HOT and came back to scrub him down. I re-dressed him in clean fuzzy jammies and put him to sleep on the floor beside my bed in case he puked again. With a bucket, of course.
Not a moment too soon, for next thing I knew he was barfing in the bucket and wailing again. He puked so forcefully and frequently that pretty soon the only thing coming up was bile. He would get thirsty and drink gingerale or water, and puke it all up thirty seconds later. I was worried he had appendicitis because the puking was so violent and just kept on coming, for hours. When I had appendicitis at 15 it was like that. Plus he complained of abdominal pain and pointed to his lower right quadrant.
He was feverish and actually a literal shade of green. He looked frail. And so, so small. I rubbed his back during puke sessions and emptied his bucket and held a glass of water for him to rinse his mouth out, and wiped his face with a cloth. And of course every time I was finished and had washed my hands Amarys was lying there like a fish with her mouth open. "Milk, milk."
Around 7 a.m. Riley's body finally quit throwing up and he fell into a deep, deep sleep. I got the older kids ready for school and dropped them off. I came home and he gradually improved throughout the day. He was definitely exhausted. He's pretty well all better but still cranky. So, not appendicitis. Thank goodness.
I bleached the bathroom. I don't actually use bleach for anything (ANYthing) and haven't for a number of years, so I was shocked to realize we had a bottle in our laundry room. My mom bought it for something or other. I was so grateful. I filled the sink and tub up with hot water and dumped in bleach, then scrubbed the countertop and around the tub and the floor. I prayed. Oh Jesus please save the rest of us.
This morning Amarys asked for a bowl of frozen peas, which is one of her favourite snacks. I packed her and Riley up at about 11 to go to the store because Matthew's class was doing a Christmas luncheon (I hate these stupid luncheons. It's too much stupid money and time and effort. And I hate the word luncheon. What's up with that stupid word?) and we were supposed to send fruit. I saved some money from our food budget for a platter of fruit rather than chopping it up myself (my life is insane, I needed the convenience), so we found ourselves in Save on Foods at 11 o'clock on a Friday morning, looking for a fruit platter. Please, Jesus, let it be under $13.
As we entered the store Amarys asked to hold my hand. She never does that. She stole my heart a wee bit there: who can resist some toddler love? And then, rather than fight me for the basket, she just walked beside me holding my hand. She didn't run away. She didn't scratch, bite, or hit Riley. She just walked beside me. I thought, "Jeepers, she must be growing up! Maybe she has become one of those sweet girls that follows her mom around the grocery store all quiet and well behaved?" I hardly had time to finish this thought, than she let out a cry and her frozen peas came flying out of her stomach and onto the grocery store floor. I had nothing to catch it in, and it just kept coming, so I held out my hand and caught what I could but it was all over her jacket, her face, her hair, her care bear, her shoes, and the floor. A very nice man handed me a produce bag and I held it out to capture what was left and boy, did it just keep on coming. I had wipes in my pocket and did what I could to clean up her hands and face, and her bear. I took off her jacket and stuffed it in a produce bag, too.
The very nice man also got a store clerk to get a mop and a wet floor sign so I didn't have to do that humiliating "my kid just barfed in aisle 4" walk of shame. I'm so grateful. And I will never get the smell of half digested frozen peas out of my nose.
I cleaned my hands with a wipe, and hand sanitizer, because this bug is super contagious and of course I'm buying FOOD for Matthew's ENTIRE CLASS. After 5 years in food service and another 9 with the ambulance service, I'm pretty up to speed with cross contamination so I think I did pretty good. Produce bags are my friend, in mopping up and containing that disaster. Hand sanitizer redeemed that entire situation.
I brought the fruit to the school and the baby home, and she was ravenous. I thought, well, she did have the benefit of three days of antibodies to this particular bug through my milk after I stayed up all Tuesday night nursing sicko Riley. Maybe she will be okay. So I fed her lunch. And she ralfed it all over my bathroom floor (thank goodness she missed the hall carpet). I bathed her, wrapped her in a towel, and nursed her to sleep. She woke up and yakked all over the couch. Then my bed. For hours. And hours. Upon hours.
She was so weak and cuddly, and just sort of had her eyes at half mast, you know? Poor baby. She's decidedly not a fan of yucky. That lasted about 7 hours, same as Riley. I bleached the bathroom again. And prayed.
Dear Jesus. Listen up.
You need to stop this barf in its tracks.