Still exhausted from Day One, Day Two dawns with a fever. Literally. Chappy was running a temperature of 101-point-something, which, gosh, is kind of high for “just teething”. So I call the pediatrician’s office, and debate just having a doc call me or setting an appointment to bring him in. That’s when he threw up all over my pajamas. The earliest they could see him was late in the afternoon, so it was decided that if he got worse, I would take him in to Urgent Care before that.
Half naked, trying to watch both little kids and get de-vomit-ified, I hear the garage door open. While the Hubbles is supposed to be gone for three more days.
Lucky for me, dude forgot his hunting boots. Apparently, he is fond of his toes and would prefer they not freeze off. This is just one of many reasons why I love not camping. As I’m filling him in (after finding vomit-free pants, ‘natch), and he and his hunting buddy remark that at least the kid looks fine, Chappy throws up bile onto the floor.
There still being several hours before his appointment, I check back in with the doc’s office and off we go to Urgent Care. Two hours later, we’re home again with a stack of papers and assurances that it’s probably just something viral, here’s the max doses of tylenol and ibuprofin he can have, and do please bring him back if he’s not improving in 24 hours. So far, I’d eaten two questionable gluten-free pancakes, that would have been much improved had I known first to melt the coconut oil before trying to mix it in, and a cup of coffee. I was stressed, slightly sleep-deprived, and really, really hungry.
Hubbles, who was even sweet enough to do the dishes while I was out with Chappy AND dropped the more difficult dog at doggy camp to run, play, and stay the night, ran out and got me a ridiculously tasty burrito before heading back up to the mountains. Poor dudes. Running in to pick up Hubbles’ boots became a four hour stop not counting driving to and from the freaking mountain.
In the evening, Gramma came to save the day and help get Pixie in bed and take turns holding our Unhappy Chappy. I haven’t said much about Pixie, but she’s just fine health-wise, and was pretty well behaved. Jealous of baby brother getting held more, but coping pretty well for a two-year old. Also, there’s apparently an invisible red apple on the kitchen ceiling. You know, according to Pixie. Gramma also brought sandwiches, which is only one of many reasons why she is awesome.
Some soothing Hogan’s Heroes before bed, and crazy-arsed Day Two was finally behind us and dream-land in front of us. Well, for a few hours. But 4:30 am counts as Day Three, you’ll just have to be on pins and needles for all of the excitement! Will there be more barf? Barking? Sandwiches? Will Brassy herself ever sleep through a whole night again? (Hint: probably not for another 6 months at least!)
