Let me recap:
May 2-7: Visiting my mom in Idaho with the baby. She has decaf coffee, no sugar, and no real milk. She is definitely trying to kill me. I am saved at the last second by the discovery of fully caf beans in her freezer, which she's had since we last visited a year ago. To be fair, she just moved into a new house. BUT STILL. I vacillate between relief at having only one child to care for, and boredom, because there ain't that much to do at my mom's house. Declare wine o'clock at 4pm as survival mechanism.
Tuesday, May 7: Fly home solo with baby as lap child. Swear that I am never, ever, EVER doing a cross-country flight with a lap child again. Ajax hasn't pooped since we flew TO Idaho last Thursday. Prepare for imminent poopocalypse, by packing all the spare outfit, all the diapers, and all the wipes in my carry-on. Right on cue, he lets loose in the middle of the Denver to DC flight. By some miracle, I have an empty seat next to me, an amiable aisle seat mate, and a changing table on the aircraft. I congratulate myself at my kick-ass mom skills, as I bag up the desecrated outfit in a Ziploc, put the baby in something new and cute, and hold him as he sleeps for much of the flight.
Midnight-ish, Tuesday night: Had arrived home to the small child hacking like a tubercular patient. Husband says it started the day before. Dosed her with hippie homeopathic cough/cold stuff at bedtime. It's not working. Send husband in to her room to comfort her. Awoken again soon thereafter by despondent wailing, lights going on. We have bed puke, apparently from the coughing. Crap. I try to suggest to Seth that he stay with her in her room in case of more hurling, but he insists she won't throw up anymore because it was from coughing, so somehow, she ends up in bed with me, and Seth is on the sofa. Of course, it turns out she can't keep water down and throws up twice more, but because I am Worst Case Scenario Prep Mom, I have ample towels, and the bedding is saved. I don't sleep. At all.
6:30 am, Wednesday: WHY IS THIS SICK CHILD AWAKE AND CHIPPER? I walk her downstairs to the person who GOT UNINTERRUPTED SLEEP on the sofa, inform him that he should not go to work, and that I am going back to bed with the baby. Get to sleep past 9, because the baby thinks he's still on Mountain time.
Wednesday: Helene is clearly pretty sick. With what, I'm not sure. Fever, not hungry, coughing. Falls asleep on hardwood floor for over an hour. Crap. Give her water & Gatorade. Crackers & water at 4pm are regurgitated an hour later. CRAAAP. That night, I give her Tylenol, and god knows what else, drag the humidifier back out of the closet, and dispatch Seth to sleep with her.
Thursday, Friday, half of Saturday: Stuck in house with sick older child and not-yet-sick baby. Going to stick a fork in my eye if I have to watch one more Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Surgically scrubbing my hands every 10 minutes; pouring hand sanitizer on everyone's hands, including the baby's; washing & disinfecting everything I can think of in the house, including wiping down my iPhone with 91% isopropyl alcohol. Have decided Helene has a really wretched cold. Dose her with the serious cough suppressants so we can all sleep. Am determined that the baby will not get this, because he's finally healthy from the last frigging late-season cold. So far, so good. Wish very hard to be back at my mom's germ-free house, bored out of my skull.
Saturday, midday: Brief reprieve. Husband sends me out of the house for lunch and a pedicure. OH MY GOD I'M GIDDY TO BE OUTSIDE OF THE HOUSE. ALONE. I literally have not left the house since getting home Tuesday night. Indulge in a day-drinking glass of sangria.
Sunday morning: Mother's Day. Have slept horribly, as baby started up with a dry hacking cough at 2 am. Fuuuuccckkk. Decide the older child is well enough to go to ballet class. Then she has a coughing fit and horks up her OJ at breakfast. We decide it's just due to the cough, because she wolfs down a huge amount of breakfast. Dose her with something and take her to ballet. Come home delirious with exhaustion and an ominous tickle in my throat. Mainline Zicam. Beg for a nap. I get to lie down for two hours, though it's so hard for me to actually nap. Wake up and feel like I might survive. Seth is cooking dinner for Mother's Day. I declare we are going to eat outside, because I've barely been outside in days on end, and it's sunny, if a bit breezy. The poor, getting-sick baby ends up sleeping through dinner.
Sunday night/Monday morning, midnight-ish: Seth is put on Helene Duty. Awakened by lights and wailing. Helene is screaming that her ear hurts, Seth is trying to give her Tylenol. She's very upset, which makes her cough uncontrollably, which makes her puke up everything in her stomach. Again. We are quick with the towels, grateful it wasn't in her bed, and we steam-clean her rug at 12:30 at night. The baby miraculously does not wake up. No one else really sleeps for the rest of the night.
Monday: Sick visit for the small child! Bronchitis! Ear infection! Antibiotics! The baby and I sniffle and cough. I drag out all the humidifiers, AGAIN. I use antibiotic wipes, hand sanitizer, alcohol, on everything. I wash everything I can think of in the dishwasher and washing machine. We all try to take naps. I want my mommy. Or anyone's mommy.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday: All kind of a blur. I just want to cry. I am surviving only because I am not too sick to drink coffee, and because Helene can FINALLY be sent to school. The baby is sad and hacking and sniffly and sick, and neither one of us is sleeping well. I'm exhausted. Helene has at least been sleeping.
Friday: Everyone seems perked up. The baby is back to smiling, and is significantly less snorty and snotty. I declare it Thai takeout night. I think we're all going to live.
Today: Surviving and relatively healthy. The baby & I still rattle-phlegm-cough once in awhile. The weather's nice. We've been outside a lot, thank goodness. The next one who sniffles or coughs is getting put out on the street. So is the next one who tells me how joyful it is to have small children.