So if I had actually managed to get this post out earlier this week, I could have told you a whole bunch of fun stuff that is going on with Henry. For example, one of his top teeth is coming in. Just one mind you, meaning that when it’s fully in he’s going to look like a hilly-billy until its mate decides to makes an appearance. He’s also responding to questions – not with words that we can make heads or tales of – but it is a definite response. “Did you like the chicken, Henry?” “gerf!” “Would you like some juice?” “nordf! Mommommommom.” If I wrote this earlier I would have told you about how he takes my hand and “leads” it to something he wants me to pick up - or how I bought him his first pair of hard sole shoes as he’s doing too much damage with the soft soles when I take him out.
Since those great moments earlier in the week, I have since been covered in so much shit and vomit that I hardly remembered to bring them up. Henry, sadly, is ill.
It started suddenly enough, on Friday morning. It was one of only two times since he was born that both Andy and I got up before Henry. By 7:30 AM, I got a bit concerned and went in to wake him up. The minute I opened his bedroom door, the smell hit me. I thought innocently enough that the smell was from his mouth. Babies sometimes get bad breath when they are teething. As I took off his sleep sack, I noticed that it was wet and stained. I started to get a bit worried. As I took off his pajamas, I noticed that his onesie on the belly was also stained. I shouted down to Andy, “Get up here! I think Henry is peeing blood!”
Oh no. It wasn’t blood. It was poo. A lot and a lot of poo.
There is a point when you are looking at your poor child lying there, every possible inch and crevice seemingly filled with poo that you just freeze and think, “I really don’t know where to start in regards to cleaning this.” The box of baby wipes just doesn’t seem worthy. You want to be near running water. Hell, you dream of a power hose. You pray to yourself to please, please, don’t let any of this shit end up on me. But it does, it always does.
An emergency bath was arranged. All clothes and bed linens were promptly washed. Showers were had for the adults who might have a sprig of poo somewhere on their person. 2 hours after the incident, we were all clean and everything was alright with the world again…
…until Henry had another diaper blow out. This time the poo ended up on my nose. I still don’t know how. I refused to give Henry another bath so an entire box of baby wipes were used and another load of laundry done. A half hour later we were acceptably clean again.
…but then he projectile vomited.
…and then a few hours later, he had more diarrhea.
We took him to the doctor in the afternoon and she gave us a prescription for (basically) children’s Gatorade powder and she told us to “watch him”. I don’t know what that means really. I watch him every day. She never said to watch out for. I’m assuming that if gnomes started climbing out of his ears that we are to take him to the hospital….or the zoo…it’s hard to tell with these things.
Taking a little nap on Daddy. He's so sick, he's pouting in his sleep.
It’s Sunday now and Henry is still sick. He’s been going through 4-5 outfit changes per day due to some sort of bodily fluid flowing out of him. My washing machine is forming a protest against me stating that it will refuse to wash anything that has touched vomit or shit. Truthfully, I’m totally with my washing machine. I had a half box of washing powder (the big 50 load box) and now it’s almost gone. I don’t mind doing laundry but this is ridiculous. And seriously, Beth, if you ever come to visit, sit on the armchair…the sofa is no longer safe.
I will say (with pride), that Henry has been a real trooper through all of this. He will whine occasionally, which is to be expected for how much pain he’s in (he’s teething too, remember) but for the most part he tries really hard to just be normal. He still tries to play, even though he isn’t as concentrated and energetic as usual. He gives us lots of cuddles which I almost think is his way of comforting us while we’re trying so hard to comfort him. And while I want him to be better as soon as possible there is something so irresistibly cute (in that “awww” sort of way) about a sick little boy and his bear.
Feel better little bean.
