Streptococcus

The Top Five Ways You Know You Have Strep Throat
(Even though your husband claims it's post-nasal drip irritation because "I had that last week and it's no big deal.")

1. You start spitting your extra saliva anywhere other than down your throat.

2. You ask to go lay down during prime baby playing time.

3. You start using sign language, which is especially fun for your husband, since you don't know sign language.

4. You hop in your car, race down the icy driveway, hoping to make it to the minor med office before they close.

5. The doctor looks at your throat and winces.

So, when I replied to Scott's theory that it was no big deal, I said, "But you weren't spitting your saliva into a cup."

He said, "That's because I have a higher pain tolerance than you."

Pain tolerance? Really? We're going there? Fine. Boom.

Exhibit A


Exhibit B



Bite me.

P.S. Please, oh, please, please, please cross your fingers these girls have strong immune systems. Or else have mercy on my soul.

Snot, Vomit And Other Fun Parenting Stuff

We are one sick household. Scott is sneezing and coughing up a storm. Claire has a perpetual runny nose that is causing her to snort while drinking her bottle. Grace threw up twice yesterday. And I'm downing Vitamin C like it's my job and crossing my fingers I can stay healthy.

Oh, and two nights ago Claire woke up crying at 11:00 p.m. and I wasn't back in bed until 12:45 a.m. And when I got in bed, my arms felt like they were ready to fall off. Just imagine what your arms would feel like after holding a 20-pound bag of flour in the exact same position for an hour and a half. Now imagine that your bag of flour has arms and legs and a head and if you move your bag of flour so much as an inch, it will start screaming at you. Scary thought.

So basically, my point is, it's lots of fun around here.

A Family Affair

It was Wednesday. 4 a.m. I woke with severe stomach pains. And, naturally, I cursed Scott and his chili concoction that we ate for dinner.

But an hour later when I was vomiting and he was still sleeping contentedly, I briefly considered that maybe — maybe — it wasn't his chili.

And hours later when I was still vomiting and he was laughing with the babies in the next room, I gave up on the chili idea and decided I was just plain ol' sick.

Cue last night when the neighbors had to come over and ask us to keep down the noise. I politely told them it was just my husband getting sick in the bathroom.

A few hours later, I go in to get the girls up for the morning and smell the all-too-familiar smell of vomit. And there's poor Claire just sitting there not realizing the foul stench is her own.

And who said I didn't know how to share?

Oh, What A Night: Part II

Let me take you back a few days. It was Saturday night, and the day was wrapping up pretty well. We had taken the girls to our small town fair (complete with their first parade!) and they had behaved swimmingly. They were in bed for the night and we were headed there, too.

The house was quiet, we were starting to doze, when Grace let out a wail. Now, this is not terribly unusual. One or both of them usually wake sometime during the night and after a few pats on the back, they slip back to sleep.

Saturday night was different. So, so different.

Grace woke at 11 p.m. and didn't go back to sleep until 2 a.m. We patted. We rocked. We swayed. We even took her for a drive. Nothing worked. Every time we went to lay her down, she would let out a blood curdling scream. So, we stayed up with her, taking turns, not having a clue what to do with a baby who won't sleep.

She finally gave in three hours after she woke, and we all hit the sack.

This happened again the next night. And the next. Until two nights ago when I decided that I just couldn't take another night of the torture.

I went through all of the possible problems ... teething, separation anxiety, too much stimulation, Ihatemyparentsitis. I talked to my mom. People from work. People from Scott's office. But it wasn't getting any better and we were no closer to a solution.

So, we went to the doctor yesterday, and she confirmed what we suspected. An ear infection. She said give it a day or two before we see improvement.

But last night after only two doses of the antibotic and some tylenol, we put her to sleep at 8 p.m. and she didn't wake up until 6:30 this morning.

I think we found our problem. Now, it's time for a nap.

Rush Hour

I missed posting yesterday because I was busy chillin' in the seventh circle of hell.

It started at 8 a.m. while I was in the shower. The doctor was returning my phone call about Claire being possessed over the weekend. They had an appointment in 40 minutes if I could be there. Still dripping wet, I took the appointment and the rest of the day was a blur.

Rush to the doctor.

Rush to the pharmacy.

Rush home to feed VERY hungry babies.

Rush to work.

Rush home from work.

Rush GRACE to the doctor.

Rush back home to feed VERY hungry babies.

The bad news: Doc says Grace's throat is starting to get red, too.

The good news: At least they are learning to share.

She's Baaaaaack

Things are THIS close to being back to normal. Phew. We saw the doctor on Friday after Claire began her hunger strike, and he took one look at her throat and said "Oh, welp, that's the problem." She had huge white canker sores from the virus, and the poor little girl just didn't want to swallow. Which also explains why she was drooling ALL OVER THE WORLD.

So, we doped her up over the weekend (doctor's orders) and she ate like normal, and even smiled once the Tylenol kicked in. Which really beat the heck out of the full blown screaming we had been experiencing .

So, now we're just sitting, waiting, hoping, crossing all of our fingers and toes that The Screamer doesn't catch it.

A Perfect Storm

It has taken me about all day to recover from last night's events. I'll start at the beginning.

I get a call about 5 p.m. that Claire feels hot, threw up her formula and the kicker... slept for 4 hours straight. Claire!? Ok, there must be something seriously wrong with her.

So, I jump in the car and race home. Temp is 100.2 and she is very obviously not feeling well. But she took a few more ounces of formula and crashed.

Fast forward three hours. Her temp is now 101.3, she's throwing up, and it's hailing. Did I mention this was all taking place during a thunderstorm? So, not only is Claire crying because she doesn't feel well, Grace is crying because she's Grace, the dogs are running around inside because of the storms, the cats are rattling the door because they feel left out, and I'm sitting in the closet rocking back and forth because this is all just too much to handle.

So, we call the on-call nurse at our pediatrician's office. She says because of her age, we need to take her to the ER.

We ask Scott's parents to come and sit with Grace while we trek to the torture chamber ... I mean hospital.

We spend the next four hours wincing, crying, holding her hand as she screams and screams and SCREEEEAAAAMS. No one could blame her. She had an IV in her head, a catheter to get a urine sample, X-rays taken of her stomach and chest and snot sucked out of her nose. On top of feeling sick in the first place.





Surely they have done every test possible. Surely we will know something. Surely we didn't just put her through all of that to walk out of the hospital empty-handed. Surely.

All results are normal. Probably a viral infection. Call your doctor in the morning.

You've got to be kidding. Our baby just went through hell. As the anger and guilt start to build inside me, I look down at our baby girl who hasn't had a proper meal in 14 hours, been tortured with needles and tubes and spent her evening screaming, and she looks back at me. And smiles.

If she can remain calm after all of that, surely so can I.