Last night was not pleasant. I had already been working with Jack throughout the day on his belly pains. Something has not been agreeing with him over the last two days. Whatever it is, it has the tendency to turn his #2s a lovely shade of green. So bananas and bland toast for his dinner last night, and a 3rd shower in 24 hours.
At almost 1:00am, Ken and I were still up doing the midnight owl work jam in front of our laptops and watching Falcons football. Unable to fend off the fatigue, I headed to bed. Grace had already made an unusual second trip down the stairs that night with stomach complaints, and the inability to sleep. Checking in on her, I was surprised to see her wide awake in bed. She excitedly reported that she felt a lot better after a trip to the bathroom and the dose of Pepito. Nevertheless, the "just in case" bucket was firmly in place beside her bed.
Mamas just know don't we? Exhausted, I climbed into my own bed, to enjoy a few minutes in a horizontal position. I laid and waited for the inevitable, not satisfied with the more than chipper report of health. Sure enough...after 5 minutes...I heard the familiar sound of my child preparing to wretch, and a holler for "Mom!".
And so it goes...that was our night. Buckets of sour acid, warm washcloths, back rubs, loads of hand sanitizer, a couple hours of sleep...buckets of sour acid, warm wash...you get the point. I prayed hard for Grace to be blessed with the 24 hour flu. I think I got my wish. No fever, and no wretching. But the poor child was exhausted by 6:00pm tonight, and I'm suspicious again...as she just couldn't seem to get warm enough this evening.
And so, the faithful bucket still stands, ready to defend the newly steam cleaned carpet at a moments notice.
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