Last week Bubba and Bear spent four days quarantined in their room with naaaaasty colds. I attempted (in vain) to segregate their germs from my newborn. Let me just say that short of wrapping them in cellophane and placing them inside a sealed bubble, you canNOT prevent the spread of illness among children who live and breathe within the same 1200 square feet.
So the Mouse got sick. And not just the sniffles. She ended up in the hospital with a bad case of RSV, a double ear infection, and a viral rash all over her tiny newborn body. That was 3 days ago. Coincidentally that is the last time I actually slept, too. Not a minute goes by in the night that I don't worry whether she will suddenly stop breathing. Terrifying illness, RSV. Especially in someone so tiny and helpless.
We are home now, which is a mixed blessing. On one hand I am in the comfort of my own bed with all of the baby's things right here. I'm with my boys, and I can actually shower when necessary. On the other hand, there is no monitor hooked up to my daughter to wake me should she be in some kind of distress, nor is there an industrial wall-mounted booger vacuum available for those times when she is so packed with booger sludge that she can't catch her breath.
She is on antibiotics for the ear infection, which has definitely brought the fever down and given her a little relief. But I have now experienced the magic that is the "Antibiotic Diaper" (as my husband so un-affectionately calls it.)
In my sleep deprived state, I just moments ago attempted to change one of "those" diapers. Those diapers that, when you first catch a whiff, cause you to check the bottom of your shoe to see what you may have stepped in. I began the diaper change as usual by placing the baby on the changer and removing the fudged Huggies. After going through about 10 wipes to clean the offending mess, I lost my balance and smacked my head while reaching for the fresh diaper, which had slipped from the changing table and fell into the laundry hamper. As I grabbed at the table to steady my sleepy, falling self, I missed the table and gasped in horror as my hand sought out the only other item within reach... the soup-filled Huggies. As I grabbed a goopy pile of diaper contents, I cried out and flung the diaper. Obviously I didn't think that one through first, and I realized the gravity of my error and haste as the diaper slammed, "butter" side down, onto my bare foot.
Something tells me that this would not have been so traumatic for me had my daughter not been on antibiotics which, if you have small children you understand, makes for the most indescribably repulsive diaper changes.
Throughout this entire ordeal my daughter laid obediently on the changing table looking at me with curious amusement. I hope she didn't inherit my grace.
So now as I sit here exhaustedly typing a humiliating blog post, I am also acutely aware of my daughter who is laying beside me and once again loudly filling her Huggies.
No comments:
Post a Comment