Hackers

Yesterday we got the Call of Doom from daycare.  She threw up, everywhere, and had a fever.  It kind of made me feel like an ass, because it's not like her illness sprung out of nowhere (What? She's sick? I had no idea!).  I was totally that Mom who gave her kid ibuprofen and sent her on her way.  Why?  My job is soooooo not that important.  Fuck my job.  AAARRRGH.

Anyway.  So daycare calls, but of course while I'm out running during lunch (self-indulgent activities while your child needs you!  Strike 11.)  On the voicemail they tell me that they're calling Matt next, which is sort of funny, because I guarantee the reason they have to point that out is because I had a bit of a "discussion" with them about reading what I wrote on her emergency sheet about CALLING ME FIRST because Matt has long stretches where he is unreachable by cell phone, that one day when they called him because I don't even remember now, and they never called me.  And then, of course, I am the unreachable one.

I call them back and talk with the Director, who always answers the phone, and she gives me her sing-songy telling of the story, and how sweet she thinks Bug is, and how even after having a coughing fit and puking up her entire lunch (because it happened like ten minutes after lunch) Bug was still smiling at her AND WHATEVER LADY I DON'T CARE.  I know my kid is sweet, thanks.  But this is not the time.  I need to know: Is she still puking?  Was there, like, blood in it?  How much was there?  Is it an emergency?

So Matt goes and picks her up and is supposed to pick me up afterward which is like at least another 20 minutes and I'm ready to go outside and bum a cigarette from a bum because I'm beside myself waiting to lay eyes on her and do the Mom Assessment.

They come and get me and she's smiling away in the backseat.  She looks rough, sure, but not as bad as I was expecting.  By some grace of God I got an appointment at the doctor's office for that afternoon, so we head straight there.

The wait time is obnoxious, again, although this time there was false hope with how few people were in the waiting room.  I blatantly ignored the "If your child has a cough, please let us know so we can provide you with a mask," and just generally let her cough into my face.

I think we saw a resident this time first, because she had a"Dr." in front of her name, and she was very nice; much better than Junior last time.  Our doctor then came in later to confer.  Her one eardrum was starting to retract, and although not overly infected at that point, was ripe to get there.  They told us they would write us a prescription and we could wait a few days and then fill it if we wanted to.  I decided I was done with the fifth day of fever and grossness, and we were going to fill it now.  Complicating matters is her allergy to penicillin, which is optimal for ear infection fighting... We opted for the Z-Pack, with the knowledge that it may not do a damn thing.

After the doctor we went straight to Target, where I bought a king-sized box of Froot Loops, Bug got an applesauce pouch, and then I maybe also threw in a bag of Baked Lays for good measure.  Who says food doesn't make everything better?  If I liked to medicate with chocolate, that would have probably been in there, too.

Her cough was pretty gross, but it was relatively few and far between.  She refused most of her dinner in favor of yogurt and milk.  Yes, I am foreshadowing.  She was mad about the bathing, and the putting on of the pajamas, and the combing of the hair, which isn't necessarily indicative of anything other than a regular Thursday night.

She coughed a bunch an hour after being put down, but quieted herself.  Then a half hour later there was more coughing, and this sad, cat-like crying.  I went down there and went in her room, where it stank like rancid everything, turned on the light, and she started throwing up again.  Why do I always lose judgement when there's vomit?  I let her puke one more time in her bed (the mattress has a plastic cover?) until I realized that I should probably get her out of her bed, except I put her on the floor, which has carpet, and by this time I've been yelling for Matt and he comes in the room and I yell TOWEL but at that moment I then realize, why the hell am I still in her room, when the tiled bathroom is right next door?  So I carry her into the bathroom and she throws up on the floor as we walk in, and I sort of sit with her on the closed toilet, because what the hell do you do with a puking toddler?  I'm not going to make her hug the bowl on her knees.  She retches again and I move her toward the bathtub, but nothing comes out.  We might be done.  Can I tell you how horrible dairy products are when they come back up?  I always thought that a) spit-up was gross and b) maybe I was desensitized because we were covered in it from day 3 to 360, but I tell you that two days later I can still smell/taste Thursday night in my mouth.

The rate at which small children can magically recover is truly, well, magical.  As if she was at some fraternity party, she was ready to rally.  "Go upstairs," she said to me.  "Play."  No, we are not playing, missy.  You are sick, and it is night-night time.

I offered my bed to her.  I wish she would just FALL ASLEEP in our bed, instead of maniacally kicking and/or staring at whichever one of us has lost the battle to stay awake.  It wasn't even that late at this point (9?) but if she would have fallen asleep I would have gladly slept with her.  I lay there with her for what I thought was a gracious twenty minutes, and then we brought her back into her room.  I've just laid her back in her crib when I realize that my Husband Cleaning Service has yet AGAIN dropped the ball halfway (there must have been something shiny?) and while the mattress was stripped of the gross sheet and wiped down, no sheet was put back on.  OMG.  I ask him to come back in and fix it, and I see him grab for the green sheet, which I know is just, like, the biggest mistake ever because there are two green sheets, one crib-sized and one pack and play-sized, and it is F'ING IMPOSSIBLE to know the difference until you've tried to cram the wrong one on, or are left with two feet of extra fabric, but I don't say anything because I'm tired, and he should just KNOW these things.  At least in my head, anyway.

He finally finds a working sheet (the pink one) and puts it on, and we put her down.  We don't hear much of a peep the rest of the night.  I decide that I'm staying home with her today (AAAH, WORK) and she sleeps until 10 AM.  TEN O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING.  The child who wakes up at 5:45 AM because she heard a leaf fall outside sleeps until 10.  I spend the morning in that horrible limbo of whenever your kid is sleeping abnormally long.  Start a project (like a nap?) and they surely will wake up.  Do nothing but stare at the wall and they sleep an additional three hours.  Sooo needless to say I didn't get much done this morning, and by nothing done, I mean I don't even think I remembered to brush my teeth.

It was so beautiful outside today (which is like saying "it was so wet in the ocean today") so I decided that we were going to walk down to Little Italy and get a bagel/egg sandwich at my favorite little restaurant.  In hindsight, probably not the best choice.  But the sandwich tasted good, the coffee indulgently filled with whole milk, and her whining sort of drowned out by the landing planes.  Because despite excitedly agreeing at home to get bagels and eggs, when we got there, she wanted nothing but applesauce, which, of course, I had none of.

We walked back home, and I put her down for a nap.  She slept two hours-ish.  She's still pretty much a mess.  I had to go down there once already tonight after coughs turned to tears, but no barfs, yet.  I place this viral infestation squarely on the shoulders of daycare, which pretty much makes me hate my job even more.  And I can totally feel myself getting sick (it's always when, and never if) which just means that on top of the UNPAID time off for her being sick, I'll have equal days next week when I will be laid up.

I think a change in job situations one way or the other may come in the next few months.  Either for a better full-time job that will actually compensate me for my work and abilities, or a part-time whatever job (cashiering at Target?) that gives us some extra cash and allows me to stay home with her during the day, and get her to all the appointments we are currently missing.  Because really, after what we shell out for daycare, I'm not bringing home an earth-shattering amount of money.  Life, I tell ya.

Oh, and I still have not seen the girl again.  Although I obviously did not ride the bus this morning, I brought the stuff with me both Wednesday and Thursday to no avail.  I need to let it go but I'm failing at that right now.

For Mother's Day I would like a day without an oozing green, boogery nose and a night spent not glued to the monitor.  Maybe next year!