So-- not a fun week. It began as a fun week though- a great visit with Sprogblogger and a few other on-line friends in the best-luck-ever-club of having babies in spite of infertility. Babies! Great food! Friends! Then
the barfing began. To put this in perspective, I do not barf. I just don't. I spent the first n months of my pregnancy feeling all out shitty, but I never actually threw up. But Monday night? Almost no warning and then the drama began. The drama played out with me lying on the floor outside the bathroom door. Or briefly on the sofa. Or with my head on the toilet seat (OPEN). Icy chills turned to fever by tuesday. And while Tuesday was mercifully barfless between the hours of 8am and midnight (with one last hurrah at midnight before going away all together), I felt I was dying of thirst, had a fever, and could barely stand upright long enough to do anything. PathetiKate. Indeed. All night I craved ice cold apple juice with a nearly (well, actually) pathological intensity. During the long Della labor, it was what sustained me. Apple juice and ice chips.
Della was fine. So I figured it was food poisoning from my Monday dinner. Della was fine, so it could not be the flu, right? Right.
So off to daycare she went with Doug, and he brought me apple juice (best.thing.ever).
And I got over it slowly and pathetically with much moaning. I felt like crap, people, no kidding.
But days passed, I got better except for insane fatigue, and Della somehow was fine. News came in from the sunday gathering-- the barfing, apparently, was indeed a flu. And it was making its nasty rounds through the families from the gathering. Felling the adults, and scaring the children.
But Della was fine.
Night before last, with no warning whatsoever, she began to barf the bewildered barfing of a little one. Shocked face, hands full up in all of it. Amazing amounts for such a small container. Luckily it was all over me, so we did not need to change sheets, just clothes, and clothes again, and again. Towels and clothes. And a mostly sleepless barf filled night ensued.
Then, by yesterday morning, after one last hurrah at dawn, she was fine.
I spent the day on high alert, but she is fine.
And Doug? I think Doug is probably screwed but I can hope.
But this week of snow days and barf days and bone crushing fatigue and feeling like I am falling farther and farther behind in just about everything... well, here I am on Sunday afternoon trying to create on demand and decided to veer off into saying hello here--Hello!
I have a post brewing about resonance, rather than regurgitation, but sometimes you have to take what you can get.