Last night R alternated throwing up and crying for hours. We figured it was the flu (we've been lucky so far (knock head) at avoiding it, but like all viruses, we knew it would catch up sometime) and dosed her accordingly, but then when that came back up we resorted to the heavy artillery.*
When that didn't seem to help, B climbed into the big recliner and rocked her for hours while I flitted around like a mama bird with cold cloths and flat seven-up on a spoon. Pinky was running a high fever and we just tried to make her comfortable - B looked like he was marooned on Littlegirl Island, surrounded by her bunny and her blankie and her special pillow and two or three of her baby dolls - and thought we'd ride it out. We talked about who would take her when - how we could move things around so she sould stay home with us, which appointments we'd have to move, etc.
She went into her bed at about midnight, and was back in our bed at two.
Her Daddy was the only thing she wanted. She was quiet when I held her and sang, but her eyes would dart around until she found Bear, and she really only seemed to settle with him.
All this to say: we expected the rest of this week to be a blur of temperatures, mopping up, and loads of laundry.
This morning, I was woken by a finger tapping me on the arm. Silently protesting the break of day (and can someone please tell me why kids are so attuned to that? Is it the magnetic pull of the sun or something?) I rolled over to see...
The bright-eyed and happily smiling face of my daughter. 'Tass toot.' she said, and grinned.**
She's fine. A little tired (she's in with B right now, having a long early nap) but sunshine-y and chattering and her usual bouncy self.
We talked about taking her to outpatients last night. We were both worried. She was burning up, racked with nausea, and clearly in distress.
And today, she's cracking jokes and carrying the cat around.
We have had a reprieve. And we're so grateful.
*I think it's sufficient to say there was a rubber glove and vaseline involved, and a very indignant two year old.
**Her biggest baby joke so far. R likes to blame her brother for all...uh...bodily odors. Last week it was the cat.