Fast forward eighteen months (give or take) to this past weekend. We were in Nevada at my in laws’ new home, and Adelaide had gone down for the night at about 9:30. Jay and I tried to sneak in around 11:30, but it seemed like our entry had roused her. It sounded like she was coughing a little bit, with a little fussing mixed in between. Since she wasn’t full-on crying, I assumed she’d put herself back to sleep. The coughing sounds escalated to sound like she was choking on something, and when I jumped out of bed to check on her, I discovered that the choking sounds were in fact the sounds of her vomiting, and she was writhing around in her own vomit. Not spit up. This stuff was full on chunky, stinky vomit. And it was all over her: her pajamas, her face, her hair... I was freaking out. Thank goodness for Jay who can keep a cool head during a crisis. We washed her off, put on new PJ’s and held her upright. She continued to vomit for a half an hour, and then started dry heaving after her poor little tummy was empty. I called the pediatrician’s after-hours service, and the nurse informed me that as long as she didn’t have a fever, to just follow her cues. If she wanted to lay down, let her sleep. Offer her teaspoons of water in the morning, and if she kept them down, let her nurse for a little bit. After an hour (or an eternity) of vomiting, my poor baby was so exhausted, so we laid her down and she immediately went to sleep. The same cannot be said about me. I barely slept at all. Every tiny noise she made freaked me out and I kept running to make sure she wasn’t choking. I was so upset that my baby was feeling so terribly, I was so annoyed that we weren’t home, I was so frustrated that we were going to have a four hour car ride (four hours of Adelaide’s least favorite place... the dreaded car seat) to get home. Someone needs to get on this teleporting thing like now.
We made it home, and honestly, Adelaide is the best little sickie. Even in between vomiting sessions she was her smiley little self, which only managed to break my heart even more. The new year started with me thinking that the only thing worse than seeing my husband sick was seeing my baby sick.
Well... At about 3:30 my stomach started KILLING me. I HATE vomiting and will do pretty much ANYTHING to prevent myself from enduring what I consider to be the worst bodily function one has to put up with. (I was honestly dreading vomiting during labor more than the idea that I would probably poop during delivery. I did neither - go me!) This flu sucked, because every once in a while the nausea would subside, leading me to believe that my mommy-strength was helping me conquer and forgo the Great Unpleasantness. Unfortunately, after each short respite, the nausea, body aches and headaches would return with a greater force than they previously had. For the next four hours, Jay and I took turns holding our clingy baby while the other suffered through the waves of nausea and pain. We took turns limping to the kitchen to bring the other Gatorade. We took turns turning the heater up again and bringing the other one pillows from the bedroom. Eventually I lost the battle, but the upside to upchucking is you typically feel much better once the deed is done (unless it’s morning sickness. Then you’re screwed because you just threw up AND you’re still going to feel just as nauseated for the next 12 weeks. I guess that’s what you get for bestowing the gift of life upon another human being. Thanks a lot, Universe.)
Now that we are all (pretty much) completely recovered, I can say with certainty that the worst thing is seeing your baby AND your husband miserably sick, and actually not being able to do anything about it because you are just as sick.
Lessons that I pulled from our bout with the Plague? I’m grateful for Netflix Instant-Play. I’m grateful for 7Up, Pedialyte, Gatorade, Popsicles, and chicken soup. I’m so grateful for our family/friends who brought us soup, Gatorade, Popsicles, etc., as well as for sending prayers and positive thoughts our way. I’m grateful for a husband who, even when he feels horrid, does everything he can to support me and help me. I’m grateful for a healthy, happy baby who, even when she is vomiting, is always smiling (well, not ALWAYS, but I’m feeling pretty rose-colored and sappy at the moment). I’m grateful that “the worst thing” for me is seeing my family battle a 24-hour flu, instead of any of the other horrible, chronic diseases that so many are suffering from. I’m grateful for my health, my husband’s health, and my beautiful baby girl’s health.