Bumps and Barf

How come you all didn't warn me about that ghastly stomach bug that rips through families and turns them upside down and makes the walls spin and leaves an otherwise capable set of parents completely debilitated and calling for reinforcements? Ooosh! The last 48 hours have been an adventure in acquainting myself with ye olde John Donne-ism that No Man is an Island. Indeed, I may have been marooned on the island of the pukeys in which I could NOT keep a drop of fluid down for more than 3 hours this weekend, but I was not alone. Lovey Loverpants was there on the Island of Puke, just trying to keep upright long enough to shovel the snow in order to make way for the Green Bus to make important trips to CVS for Pedialyte runs and to go to work. Baby Girl was there, too, and just clearly not herself. Didn't want to eat, didn't even smile before trying to dive off the bed where we change her diaper. Before Loverpants left for work yesterday, I did call some local friends like they were on my Samaritan hotline asking if they could spare an hour to keep Baby Girl from sucking on batteries while I napped. But then, by the mercy of God, I started to feel a little bit better, and this morning I woke up feeling like I had been given a new body. During our stay on the Island of Puke, two things became abundantly clear:

1.) We are very, very blessed with a caring set of friends. And I need to pay this realization forward, for sure.

2.) If there is ever a Baby Loverpants #2, he/she will not be raised in a place where the Island of Puke cannot be attended by members of the extended family. I was so desperate to just call my mother yesterday and for her to come over and wash my dirty dishes and tell me to go back to bed, because she had it all under control. I shall not be taking family for granted ever, ever again.


Here on the Island of Puke, we took directives from Nana Red to make ghetto pops: Half portion of Pedialyte, half portion of Propel, a little drizzle of apple juice; pour into Dixie cup, pop spoon in, freeze, give to teething sickly child.

Baby Girl thinks Ghetto Pops are suspect. ghetto pop

I don't blame her. ghetto pop ***

Oh! Also!! Baby Girl got her first battle wound! I saw it all go down and was paralyzed to stop it. A little girl at Itsy Bitsy Yoga who is otherwise sweet-mannered and maybe even a little passive saw Baby Girl gamely standing up and decided to pull her arm so she could go walk with her. I see the little girl taking Baby Girl by the hand, and suddenly I am thinking, Naw, she knows Baby Girl can't wa----OH shoot. Baby Girl clunks her head on the corner of a wall and breaks into the squishy mushroom face cry.

See the crease on her forehead?

po lil bunny

Poor little bunny. battle wounded