Misery.

I know.

Three days after Christmas, and I still haven’t posted a Christmas post.

No pictures, no stories, no nothing.

Color me a shitty blogger.

Here’s the thing.  I’ve been talking for weeks, months even, about how much I’ve enjoyed being pregnant.  I have reveled in this gestation, and tried to live each moment to the fullest.  I have been so thankful for this baby in my belly, and everything to do with her.  I have taken the bad summarily with the good, and been thankful for the crappiness as well.

Until this weekend.

This weekend, I hit a shit-brick wall.  I got sick with a cold.  I have had NON-STOP heartburn.  The only thing I can take that actually cures the heartburn gives me diarrhea.  Also?  The hemorrhoids I have been dealing with for nearly two years now have reached newly epic proportions, and the diarrhea doesn’t help.  My cold?  I cough.  And cough.  And cough.  I have coughed to the point where I feel like I’m going to bust open.  My ribs hurt.  My abs (what there is of them) hurt.  My throat hurts so bad I can’t swallow; I can hardly speak.  I cough myself awake, and I can’t fall back asleep.  I wake Brock up, so I get up.  I haven’t slept more than a handful of hours, and I’m exhausted.

In a matter of three days, I have gone from complete serenity to utter misery.  I hope I can get past this and enjoy the rest of my pregnancy with the grace I knew earlier.  I don’t want to take any moments for granted.  I don’t want to wish this away.

But right now, I don’t want to be sick or pregnant any more.  I don’t want to write about Christmas.  I want to whine.

So there.

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I am 33 weeks and 4 days pregnant, with 6 weeks and 3 days to go.

Short and Sweet.

… and totally adorable.

I wont write much in this post either!

Hah.  Ronan is sitting next to me, entirely naked and still wet from a mid-afternoon bath he requested.  Of course, he’s playing with his wiener.  No diaper? That’s okay, there’s a toy between your legs!  Boys.

Let me say, quickly, that one should never expect the best case scenario when planning for a difficult situation.  I worked last night, and assumed Ronan would sleep in late today as he did yesterday.  Nope.  Up at seven.  I thought, “Maybe he’ll take a four hour nap today, like he did yesterday!”  Nope.  Two teeny hours.  My sweet sitter is sick, and I figured staying awake with Ronan wouldn’t be that difficult.  Um.

If you’ve had any dealings with me today, I apologize.  I am showing more crazy than normal.  I blame the lack of sleep.

Also?  The poor kid got my vomit bug on Saturday night.  And poor Brock was up with him until nearly midnight, catching him and holding him every time he threw up, cleaning up after him, brushing his teeth, and trying to get him to drink something.  It has not been a good month for us.

On the up side, we’re both feeling better.  I’d love for that to stick around for a while.

Also again! I went to a friend’s Mother’s Blessing-style baby shower on Saturday… and I brought my camera.  Turns out, I was the only one who brought a camera, so I spent a lot of time trying to capture the afternoon.  We had SO much fun.   Never underestimate the value of having a kid free afternoon with a bunch of other moms.

Anyhow… when it came time to send her the pictures I had taken… man, it was nervewracking!  I’ve never had that feeling before.  Will she like them?  Did I do a good job?  Will she pretend to like them?  HA!  It must be more stressful than I imagined to be a professional photographer.

And.  That’s all I’ve got for today.

Except… if you read my blog… Thank you.  I love you, and appreciate your support.  I don’t know if I’ve ever said that before, and decided I should.

So thanks.

Sick to Death.

Ok.

I know my blog has been a bit of a downer lately… and we haven’t really been having the best MONTH.

Between me and Ronan, someone has been sick for ages.  He finally seems to be on the mend.  But I warn you now… this entry will be very graphic, and use words like “vomit” and “diarrhea”.  Discontinue reading if you have a problem with that.

I felt fine yesterday.  All of the day.  I ordered a pizza for dinner, because I hadn’t planned ahead enough for dinner, and I was starving.  Ronan and I ate pizza together, I bathed him and put him to bed just after Brock got home.  Brock and I sat on the couch and watched our favorite show (Modern Family) and I started to feel a little off.

I told him I thought maybe my pizza was bad, and took some Rolaids.  No improvement.

Fast forward to an hour later.  We are in the bathroom, and he’s trying to convince me to just puke it up, because I will feel SO much better.  I kept telling him, “I feel like I need to vomit and have diarrhea at the exact same moment.”  If you know me and my anti-puking ways, you know there is NO chance that I will be able to convince myself to stick a finger down my throat… even at the promise of ‘feeling better’.

I told Brock I was just going to try to go to bed and sleep it off, and he went out into the living room.  About 20 minutes later, feeling VERY ill, I walked through the living room, into the kitchen, grabbed the biggest bowl I could find, and went back to bed.  I didn’t answer Brock when he asked what I was doing.  I was on a mission.

I laid in bed, curled into a little ball around my bowl, and thought in my head over and over, “Just puke and you’ll feel better.  Just puke and you’ll feel better.  Just puke and you’ll feel better,” but I couldn’t actually convince myself to make any move.  I just laid there.

Suddenly, I sat up and there was no stopping.  I threw up over and over.  I had NO idea there was so much in my stomach.  I hate the feeling of throwing up so badly… being doubled over like you’ve been kicked in the stomach, the pulling, tearing feeling as something is ripped out of you against your will.   I hate feeling that out of control.  Not knowing when it will finally be over, and feeling like it lasts for ages.  When I finally stopped,  I sat there and cried and cried.  Brock came in to see if I was okay (evidently I’m not a quiet puker) and I said no.  I couldn’t stop crying.  He tried to get me to calm down, and go sit by the toilet in case I got sick again.  I made him sit with me until I was sure I wasn’t going to be sick anymore, and then decided to try to go back to bed.  Maybe the worst of this was over?

Fat freaking chance.

I immediately had the urge to GO.  And it was bad.  I took my pillow to the toilet with me, a trick I learned long ago when feeling unwell, and I sat on the toilet for over an hour.  I have never, in my life, been so sick.  I don’t know if it was the vomiting, diarrhea, combination of both, or the dehydration that started the contractions, but they started STRONG.  I had a hard time breathing through them.  They were reminiscent of Pitocin contractions, just as painful and only about 2 minutes apart.

I decided to go up and get into the bath, hoping the worst of the sickness was past (figured I’d gotten all of the pizza out) and that I could calm the contractions down.  After nearly an hour, crying with discomfort and fear, (and after I had finally called my midwife where she told me under NO UNCERTAIN TERMS to go to the hospital) I woke Brock up and made him bring me some water.  I told him, “If I can just keep some water down, I wont have to to go to the hospital.”  Somewhat in denial,  I chugged about 10oz of cold water, and sat back in the tub, hoping it would stick.  Smart, no?

Less than a minute later, I forcefully ejected all of the water I had slammed back into the toilet next to the tub, and then some.  As a side note, having someone there to hold your hair back for you is actually really nice.  At this point, I started crying again because I didn’t want to have to go to the hospital, I didn’t want to have to go ALONE (someone would have to stay home with Ronan) and I didn’t want to be admitted.  I’m pretty sure I was fully into denial about the seriousness of the situation, and it didn’t help that Brock kept encouraging me to “just try some more water.”

I laid down in bed after getting out of the bath with some warm water beside me, and I took a sip every 2 or 3 minutes.  I felt the whole time like I was going to throw it up again, but it managed to stay down.  After some adjusting, I finally got in a semi-comfortable position, and began to drift off to sleep.  “I’ll feel better in the morning,” was what I kept telling myself.  Only… every fifteen minutes or so, I had to run to the toilet.  Diarrhea was taking the water out of me faster than I could drink it.

At 7:30 this morning, Ronan woke screaming.  I went to get him immediately, despite feeling sick, weak, tired and horrible.  When I got up to his room, he had peed through his diaper (for the second time in two days) and was freezing cold.  Got him up, changed, fed and happy.  I then sat down on the couch with a big cup of water and some dry toast.  I felt just as terrible as I had the night before.  Brock got up, showered, and ready for work.  As he was on his way out the door, I broke down sobbing.  There was NO way I was going to be able to handle Ronan by myself today.  I hadn’t gotten any sleep, I was still feeling sick as a dog, and Ronan wants you to get up every 5 minutes to ‘do!’ something with him.  I begged Brock to stay home.  I needed him to take care of Ronan, and of me.  I guess I must have looked pretty pitiful, because he gave in easier than I had expected and called into work.

My midwife called to check on me, and see how things went.  I told her I had managed to keep some water down so I didn’t go to the hospital, and my contractions had stopped not long after I got in bed.  Thankfully she wasn’t mad at me.  She told me to rest and take it easy, and since Brock was home, I went and got back in bed.

I slept until nearly 1pm, and when I woke, I felt like a million bucks.  Not better, mind you, but SO much better than the night before, I suddenly felt like I was alive again.  I had a bowl of chicken noodle soup for lunch, and it was the best tasting thing I’d ever eaten in my life.

It is now nearly 11:30pm, and I just woke up from another nap.  This evening, Brock started saying that he felt like something awful was going on in his belly, and Ronan has been acting funny.  I went to bed early so I could have a little sleep in the event that my boys get sick and need someone to take care of them.

I really hope they didn’t catch this bug.  I really hope we are sick free for a while.  I really hope this is the last post like this that I ever have to write.

Christmas is Coming.

I have a desire to write today, without simply saying the same things I’ve been saying for two weeks.

Ronan is still sick.  I am now sick.  If his poor little throat hurts even a fraction of what mine hurts, he is in some serious pain.

He woke us all up with his coughing all night last night.  How can anyone get better without sleep?

There.

I’m done with that.

Christmas is coming up.  I know you know it.  I bought our first Christmas tree for our family this year, and it actually had me excited for Christmas for a few days!  I’ve done a little Christmas shopping, we have Ronan mostly bought for, but I can’t help but start to feel the pressure again.  Who do we buy for?  Do we do Christmas cards?  Should we take a Christmas picture?  I don’t know when to start decorating.  I have an urge to do it now, but I feel like it’s a bit premature.  I hope I still have the energy to do it in a few weeks time.  I might have to ask for some help!

I always start out with the greatest of intentions, and somehow it all gets lost in the jumble.  Last year, my mom and dad were here for a few days so we did some Christmas baking.  It was really wonderful, and I find myself aspiring to do it again this year… only this time it will be solo.  Mom kept up with the baking while Dad and I ran out for a few things we needed, and she kept Ronan on the floor by her the whole time.  It didn’t even begin to phase her.  The ease and comfort with which she handles everything makes me envious.  I want to be able to do things like she does.

Brock and I have also talked about what kind of Christmas traditions we want for our family.  This year may be the first year we stay at home for Christmas morning, rather than spending the night at Grandmom and Granddad’s.  Ronan is getting old enough to understand a little about what is going on, and we want him to remember Christmas mornings at home, and Christmas evenings with family.

I wish I had unlimited funds, and didn’t stress out about buying for everyone I care about.  I wish I had the time and energy to be crafty and give home-made gifts.  I wish I lived a little closer to my family.  I hope the Christmas bug bites me hard this year… it’s been a while.

ARRRRGH.

My poor kid is sick again.

This time it’s cough, green snotty nose and fever.

I will be calling the pediatrician as soon as they open at 8:00.  (Yeah, time change?  Fuck you.)

I feel like we have been cooped up in the house for weeks.  I feel like we can’t go anywhere, because he might get someone else sick… or worse, get another germ.

We continually have to find alternative arrangements for childcare, because I can’t miss work and I don’t want Ronan handing off his nastiness.  No one ever really explains to you how stressful it will be to find someone to care for your kid if you don’t have family around to help.

I don’t even know what else to write.  Ronan coughs himself awake all night, and it makes me want to cry.  I feel so helpless and useless.  And I’m terrified of catching it myself.

I hope he gets better soon.  I’m ready to not have to deal with this for a few days.  Or weeks.

A Grape Popsicle.

This week, Brock was off galavanting around Anaheim at Blizzcon.  He left on Wednesday afternoon, and I was working that day.  Brock’s little brother Brady had come to stay with us so we would have someone to watch Ronan.

Thursday morning, we spent some much needed play time with Ronan’s buddy Fox (and his sweet momma!)  While we were there, I noticed that Ronan was feeling warm.  It was really his only symptom, and he was acting fine.  I took him home and put him down for a nap, and he slept for almost 4 hours.  When I got him up, he was feeling HOT.  His temperature was 103.8, the highest it’s ever been, and with his recent episode of low-grade fevers, I called the pediatrician.  They told me it was likely a virus, to manage it with lots of fluids, and to call back if anything changed.

Friday morning, Ronan was still hot.  103.6, and not interested in food.  Sluggish, clingy, he had no energy.  He had another four hour nap, and I had to leave him with Brady when I went in for work.  I left Brady with medicine instructions, phone numbers to call, and the very serious order that if something felt wrong, or if something happened, he was to go to the hospital FIRST, call me SECOND.

Through text messages, Brady informed me that he wasn’t able to get Ronan to eat anything, and he went to bed very early.  He slept through the night, and when I got home at 7:30am, I went up to check on him.  He was burning up.  I gave him a cup of milk, and changed his diaper – which was dry.  I felt better that he was drinking some milk, but I went to bed worried.

I woke up at 1:30 in the afternoon, and came out to chat with Brady.  He informed me that Ronan woke at 10am, drank a little more milk, and nothing else.  He wouldn’t eat.  He had had two impressive diarrhea diapers, and went down for a nap.  At this point, I started really freaking out.  He’d been managing the fever with Tylenol and Advil and said Ronan didn’t feel terribly warm.  I started asking friends and family members for advice, and when it would be time to go to ER.  After suggestions of juice, gatorade and popsicles, I made a quick trip to Target for some ammo.

When I got home, I sat in the car and imagined the worst.  I have a penchant for that, I guess.  I bawled my eyes out for about 10 minutes before I had the guts to get out of the car and go in the house.  Ronan was still sleeping.  He napped until 4pm, and when I got him up I started crying again.  His diaper was STILL dry, he was shaking and couldn’t stand up.  He wouldn’t raise his head off my shoulder, and his temples were sunken in.  After refusing juice, pedialyte, gatorade and even plain water, I had finally decided it was time to go to the ER.  Before getting Ronan dressed, I asked Brady to get a grape popsicle out of the freezer.  It was worth a try.

Ronan had never had a popsicle before, so he wasn’t sure what to do with it.  I held it for him, and he opened his mouth.   He got his first taste, and looked at me… then nodded.  “That’s good, momma.”

He started biting, and slurping down the juice.  He was COVERED in purple, and even smiled at me a little.  And then a wondrous thing happened.  He walked over to his cup of water, and drank it back.  He signed “eat” and ate a whole bowl of macaroni and cheese.  He wanted apple sauce, and then more water.  He started laughing, and running around, and lo and behold… a wet diaper!  I have never been so happy to change a wet diaper in my life.  Twenty minutes later, he peed again, and I took a HUGE sigh of relief.  I had to leave for work, but suddenly things felt okay.  I felt like we were out of the danger zone, and on the mend.

All because of one grape popsicle.

Sick!

Ronan has been sick for almost a week.

He’s got a really heavy cough that leaves him gurgling, and he’s stuffed up.  My little mouth breather.  Poor guy.

His temp stays right around 101, but he’s active and happy.  He’s eating and drinking, and sleeping a TON.

Today, he slept in until 9:55am.  I couldn’t even stay in bed that long.  I got up and did dishes, cleaned fruit, and made breakfast.  It was kind of awesome.  It was actually all SORTS of awesome.

Brock and I have both been feeling under the weather, which may be a slightly less robust version of the bug that Ronan has.  But I’m tired of being cooped up in the house.  I miss going to the pool.  Or to the mall.  Or for playdates.

I don’t mind the sleeping, but I’d love to go out and have some fun.  Hurry up and get better, son!

Daze Off.

Because of my shifted schedule this weekend, I actually have what feels like six days off in a row.  On Sunday, looking forward at it, that many days off seems like a vacation – a wonderfully long break with limitless possibilities.

Now, on day 1, it doesn’t seem so great.

Ronan didn’t get any sleep last night, and as such neither did I.  Brock stayed home from work because he’s sick with what Ronan has (which may or may not turn out to be RSV.)  I tried to have a nap this morning, and was interrupted before I had been able to get a good 30 minutes in.  Brock and I just fight all day every day, and it’s getting really old.  I pump and get no milk… aaaaaaaand my period started a week early.  Huzzah!

So, now that I’m done bitching, here are some of my goals for the week.

  • Do all of the laundry.
  • Good Grocery Shop with at least a weeks worth of meals.
  • Strict scheduling with Ronan’s meals, naps and sleeps, WITH a chart to monitor progress.
  • Watch as much “Being Erica” as possible.
  • Keep the dishes done and kitchen picked up.
  • Not throttle my husband.

I still have to work Wednesday night, which doesn’t bother me.  And there were a few playdates that I was going to schedule in there, but we’re not going to have any human contact until Ronan has been symptom free for at least 48 hours.  I was silly enough to get my kid infected, so I’m going to be selfish and keep his germs home with me.

Yeah.  Joy told me the girls were sick.  She said she wouldn’t feel bad if we didn’t stop by.  And I thought to myself, “They’ve been sick for a while, they’re probably almost over it.  I bet they’re not contagious any more.”  And I could seriously see the surprise on Joy’s face when we stopped over anyways.  That’s what I get for being selfish and wanting to see my friend.

I haven’t eaten anything yet today and it’s 1 pm.  I need to get moving.  Laundry in the machine, food in my stomach, shower on my skin.  Today WILL be better than it has started off.  I can see to that.