it started out with a trip to the ER

Monday, March 17

photo 2photo 1
unrelated photos from a very good day

It was a mild adventure in parenting and stamina for us this weekend. On Thursday, Everett started getting sick. He wouldn't eat, he wanted to lay down a lot, he felt warm, his stomach was giving him problems, and he was starting to get a hacking cough, and wheezing. Before bed, I sat with him in our bathroom while the shower ran and filled the room up with steam, rubbed a little Vicks on his chest, started the humidifier in his room, and tucked him in. Around midnight he woke up barely able to breath and his cough and fever had gotten worse. After talking to a nurse, we decided to take him to the ER that night, and ended up staying there until about 4, discovering thankfully that it was a bad case of croup and not pneumonia. The next day, I started getting sick myself. Not with what he had, but just your regular run-of-the-mill cold. We have gone this entire winter without getting sick. Not one flu, not one cold, and I was pretty darn proud of my usually sub-par immune system. So I'm guessing this cold had more to do with lack of sleep, but there it was. None of us were ourselves after the night in the hospital and the next day was ... well it would be just fine with me if it was erased from the Great Book of Life, or wherever these things get recorded. Everett was upset and frustrated and panicked and tired with his body that was causing him pain and wouldn't let him breathe well or sleep, and he screamed a lot and yelled NO at pretty much everything the entire day. I've never seen him like that in my life, and it was pretty draining. We were already running on little sleep, and I was slowly starting to feel like an even bigger wad of achy, congested crap. At the end of the day when we were trying to cook some dinner, a large bag of rice fell on the floor and the stuff went flying everyyyyywhere. The top of my head just popped completely off. Fire shot from my ears. Everything exploded, and I remember throwing a pan of water with what little rice was inside, across the room and into the sink, which then splashed even more rice up onto the counters and the walls. Go team. After we got Everett's medicine and room prepped and he was in bed, and after we cleaned up alllllll the rice and remade some more and had our late dinner, I went into the bathroom and closed the door, turned the shower onto steaming hot, got in and just cried my eyes out as quietly as I could. Honestly, the logic wasn't there. It was not the worst day that I've ever had in my entire life, but it's not a good day when a demon bag of rice can bring out the very worst in you. Tyson ended up overhearing me. He always does. And I am SO good at quiet crying too, I don't understand. ;) But that bathroom ended up being the little sanctuary we needed for just a second. We could stand there and hold each other and not talk about the things that have surrounded us and filled up our conversations and worried us into the night in the past few weeks. But it was how are YOU, and how are WE, and this week was really hard, and I'm sorry and I love you and I'm so glad you're here. It was totally an emotional band-aid to talk with my partner/husband/love, about us. And just us. For 15 minutes. And it was the reset button for going into the rest of night to take care of our son.

Everett's slowly gotten better over the past few days. He still sounds like a raspy Grandpa when he talks or laughs, which is so cute I wanna die, but his cough is almost gone and his breathing is doing much better. I have to tell you, since he was 9-months-old and we stopped co-sleeping with him, it has been our dream to have just another night with him sleeping in our bed. It's not for everyone, but we truly cherished those days, sharing a bed together, just our little family, dreaming away in the same room. With very little exception, even on nights when it's difficult for him to fall asleep, I've tried taking him into our bed, and then just ended up having to take him right back to his, because to him, our bed means it's time to get up and play and have some breakfast. Last night though, was different. I tried for two hours to help him fall asleep in his own bed. Rocking, reading, singing. We would rock until he fell asleep in my arms, but the second I tried to put him down in his crib he would startle awake and cling to my neck like his life depended on it. It was still earlier than Tyson and I usually go to bed, but I turned off our lights, and snuggled him in our bed and he was asleep in 5 seconds flat. So there we were. Victory! Success! Our dreams came true. And we hunched over the snoring, stuffy two-year-old lying between us and kissed his cheeks and admired what an angel he was, and how young he looks when he sleeps and silently high-fived each other because it was just like the old days. Or it would be, if a two-year-old wasn't twice the size of a 9-month-old. I did not sleep at all that night. I kept sitting up to check on his breathing. I was elbowed and kicked in the face. He snored like a LION, which was amazing actually. At one point I sat up to check on him and had to laugh at what a cliche portrait of parenthood lay before me. Tyson, who is usually propped dead center in the middle of his pillow, in the very middle of the bed, was lying diagonally, pillow abandoned, with his entire body half-way down the bed. Everett, who had migrated to Tyson's side of the bed, was also totally sideways on his back, limbs spread wide like a starfish with one of his arms limply draped over the top of Tyson's face. Tyson has magical, magical sleeping abilities that I have not been blessed with. I took a mental picture of that moment. Of this whole weekend. An exhausting weekend that was so full of real life, and love, and mess, and teamwork, and care of each other that it couldn't help but be beautiful in it's own way. There's always a little nostalgia in my mom's voice when I tell her about hard, sick moments like these with a little one, and she says, "Oh, I remember that" and reminisces with my dad over a group text about what they did to take care of us during those late nights, and I know that's going to be me some day. And just knowing that, makes me appreciate where I am in my life right now, throwing pans of rice across the kitchen, notwithstanding.


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