As we stood at the window, gritting our teeth with every explosion, the culprits suddenly appeared on the street corner and began to set off more! They set up shop right where the road curves, and the drivers that passed, coming from either direction, were no doubt surprised to see a huge firework launch into the sky, just feet from their vehicle. I couldn't believe how bold those kids were being and I eventually dialed 911 and reported them. Not only were they being disrespectful (I'm still not even sure if fireworks are legal where we live), but they were being extremely unsafe...what if a car had crashed due to the blast...worse yet, what if that car took out a few, or all, of the kids?? I don't know where their parents were, but I have no problem stepping in when unsupervised children are being unsafe.
Fortunately, neither the fireworks, nor my call to report them, woke up Zoey. Unfortunately, our poor dogs didn't make it through the event as peacefully. Michael said he thought he heard them whimpering, and when he opened the door to go check on them, he nearly tripped over them! They had come upstairs and were sitting right outside the door, shaking! Poor things. I know we're going to have to put up with all of this on the fourth of July, but that's the only day we should have to deal with it. If people want to celebrate outside of the actual holiday, they should pack up their things, go far away from neighborhoods and homes, and have their fun there!! (Yes! I am aware of how incredibly grouchy I sound! Because I am!)
So, that was only the first half of our eventful night.
At 3:30am, Zoey started crying in her crib and I checked the video monitor to see if she was actually standing up, or just fussing a little before drifting back to sleep. She was indeed standing and I let out a groan because she's been waking up in the night multiple times a week, for the past few weeks. I have recently started letting her "cry it out" (unless she becomes really hysterical), so that's what I planned to do last night. Well, it was a good thing Michael convinced me to go in and check on her (it was so hot last night, he wanted to make sure she was getting dehydrated) because when I leaned in to give her a kiss and rub her back, I immediately noticed the smell of spit-up. Zoey hasn't spit up in a while, especially just out of the blue, so my suspicion led me to touch her crib sheet to get a feel (literally) for how much had come up. As I put my hand down, before I actually touched anything wet, my eyes began to focus in the dark and I noticed a bunch of dark spots on the sheet. Stunned, and confused, I raised the dimmer switch just a bit and was shocked to find vomit all over the mattress. I'm talking from head to foot...vomit all over.
I picked Zoey up and called out to Michael to tell him what was going on. He came into her room and helped comfort her as we got her and the matress stripped. I brought her into the bathroom, sat on the toilet with her on my lap, and we tried to get a better sense of what was going on. We weren't able to gather much before she let out a cry and then threw up again. As the clear fluid and stringy mucus pooled in my lap, and then onto the floor, I had to gather up every bit of strength I had inside of me, and stay focused on my little girl. And to be honest, it really wasn't that hard and took all of a half a second. I mean, what was I going to do, throw her down onto the floor, jump in the shower and cry about the fact that there was vomit soaking into my underwear? I was beyond disgusted, but even more than that, I was heartbroken for my helpless baby.
After wiping her down (cleaning the crusted vomit out of her hair and the fresh stuff off of her arms, legs and diaper), I changed my clothes and then returned to apply a cold washcloth to her cheeks and forehead. We went through a couple more rounds of vomiting and changing, frantically searching for the bulb syringes (there was SO MUCH mucus!), and holding her down while I used the Nosefrieda. After finding the bulb under Michael's dresser (Zoey had been carrying it around just a day or two before, so I knew we had to get down and look low), I gave in to her requests for milk. She drank a little bit before falling asleep in my arms, but it wasn't long before I heard the lovely sound of her gag reflexes kicking in and she shot up and vomited again. After more cleaning up (this time, it was our bedsheets that needed tending to), Michael put a fresh towel down the middle of the bed, and within seconds, Zoey's eyes were closed and she appeared to be the most comfortable she'd been in hours. With her soft blankie by her face, and her nasal passages finally clear, she slept without incident, until she woke again at 7:30.
As I woke, first to my 6:30 alarm (haha, yeah right! Snooze!), and then to Zoey squirming around, I replayed the night's events in my head. Not only had I given up and knowingly gone to sleep on top of a wet spot (oh well, I already wreaked of vomit), but I was in my third change of clothes. As Zoey sat up, I thought to myself that she looked so much better, and I was praying that I was right. She began to babble excitedly and eventually asked for water. She guzzled a bunch down, which made me happy because I knew she had lost a lot of fluid. Michael chimed in to warn me not to let her drink too much. I took the sippy cup from her, but she immediately signed for more, so I allowed a few more sips. Relieved to see my baby acting like her old self, I sat up and started preparing a mental check list of all the things that needed to be washed, and how I was going to make the most out of the day. Before I could get myself off of the bed, Zoey's precious little body offered up one last treat; a reminder that she was still in delicate condition. As all of the water she had just consumed spewed out of her mouth, with what seemed like the force of water coming out of a garden hose on full blast, Michael and I both could do nothing but gawk, until it was all over. Zoey let out a small sigh and then watched with a confused look on her face as we frantically picked up the soaked towel and stripped the bed of it's sheets.
Even though we were all pretty shaken, and exhausted, we had to carry on. Michael hopped in the showed and prepared for work as I gave Zoey a little bit of fruit bread. The rest of the day was spent bathing, napping, doing a ton of laundry (I think I washed almost every sheet, towel, and blanket in the house!), and eventually making a trip to the store. Other than two nasty poopy diapers (Oops, TMI? Sorry...) Zoey was back to acting like herself and showed virtually no signs of having been sick just hours earlier. As for what brought on her temporary illness, Michael is convinced she picked something up at the birthday we attended yesterday (perhaps from the murky kiddie pool water?? **Intense Mommy Guilt for even letting her get in there**). And we both agree that whatever it was, was only made worse by the fact that it was 88 degrees in our bedrooms last night (pre-AC). I'm just so grateful that her body did a great job of ridding itself of whatever was attacking it, in such a short period of time!
"What? I'm not supposed to be in the dog bed? But I'm sick, remember? You feel bad for me, re-mem-ber??"
How can you tell this sweet face to "Get OUT!"?
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