Chicken Pops

My kids had the chicken pox last week. (Or as one of my high-school students insists, Chicken Pops...he's 16 for heaven's sake!)
It started last friday night. Welsey, who'd just finished his second round of anti-biotics for the same ear infection was running a fever. I called the pediatrician as soon as they opened on Saturday and was in and out by 11. The ear infection was gone. The lungs sounded a bit wheezy...just watch him, she said. Fine.
By the afternoon, Grace was running a 102.7 fever. I felt like mother of the year for not having scheduled HER an appointment...by Sunday night, the fevers were gone and we were left with two cranky babies. Wes was pulling at his ear again, and his wheezing was getting worse. Monday, I took BOTH babies to the doctor. Of course, nothing was wrong with Grace, said the Dr. She's just fighting off a little cold. We, on the other hand, had another ear infection. He was prescribed Omnicef. We started him on the meds right away.
When he woke up with spots on Tuesday (they were just on his head), I thought a mosquito had gotten him. And when I picked the kids up from Mrs. Martha that afternoon, Grace had a few mosquito bites as well.
Wesley kept getting spots and spots. I thought it was an allergic reaction to the Omnicef and called the Dr. They said to bring him in. The Dr's visit goes like this:
Dr walks in and looks at Wes for two seconds without touching him: Ew, that's chicken pox.
Dr looks in ear: and he's still got a good ear infection. Keep up the antibiotics.
Dr points to Grace: Those are chicken pox, too.
Me: I thought they were mosquito bites.
Dr: hmmm.
Grace (to Dr): I wuv you!
Grace (to Jerry): NO! NO! NO!
Grace (to me): NO! NO! NO!
Grace (to nurse): GRACIE WANTS GREEN CANDY!
Grace was better by the end of the weekend. Wes stayed home with Jerry Monday and today.
Jerry: I think he's better. He looks better.
Me: Does he have any spots left?
Jerry: Just the one, on the bottom of his foot.
Me: Is it still green?
Jerry: Yeah.
Me: It's still chicken pox>
Jerry: but he'll wear socks and shoes
Me: (silence)
Jerry: couldn't we pop it?
Me: (more silence)
So, it's Tuesday night and Wes has ONE SPOT left. It won't go away. It's on the bottom of his foot and Jerry is threatening to pop it.
Grace has recovered nicely but tonight there was some green gunk in her eye we kept having to wipe out. With our current luck, she probably has conjunctivitis and will need to be out of daycare until the end of the school year.

Two lap babies can't sit in the same row

Did you know that two lap babies can't sit in the same row on an airplane because there aren't enough extra oxygen masks?

Did you know that 15-month-olds have to take their shoes off to get through airport security?

Well, we didn't know either, but now we do. Last Thursday, we ventured on our first trip as a family. We went to visit Jerry's brother's family in Missouri. We flew. My sort-of-sister-in-law talked me into it, saying, "this will be the last time you won't have to buy more than two tickets." She was right. But hidden in that message, unsaid, is the fact that we would be carrying two babies on the plane to hold in our laps all the way to Missouri. WHAT WERE WE THINKING?

Seriously...don't ask about our weekend

I had such high hopes for the weekend. I had gotten my grading under control. My school work (due Sunday night) was already started. Jerry had Saturday off. I was going to take the kids to a baby shower in Miami because he had been sick with the Flu. The weather was forecast to be beautiful! We talked about taking the kids to do something outside. In my mind, I imagined Grace playing out on the patio all weekend. I imagined at the end of the weekend, the laundry would not only be clean, but also put away. I imagined a week's worth of lunches in the fridge from the delicious cooking I would do. I imagined creative and engaging lesson plans detailed for my students. And doesn't all this make you wonder if I've ever HAD a weekend before?

Ah...Friday night. The end of a long work week, I imagined a relaxing night at home. Jerry and I were planning a nice dinner via takeout, spending some time together, and then working on our coursework. We got take-out. Grace refused to go to bed. Once she did go to sleep, Wes was up. All I remember was Jerry waking me up near 11; I had fallen asleep in bed with both kids. I hadn't worked on my school work, I hadn't showered, and it felt like my teeth were wearing a sweater. Of course, when I got out of bed to remedy the situation, Grace freaked out, and then the baby woke up, and the whole thing started over.

Flash forward to 2:30 A.M. Grace reaches over and puts a hand on my arm. Her hand is wet. Jerry wakes up and realizes she has gotten sick. Like throw-up sick. In our bed. By the time I realize what was happening, poor Grace was starting to vomit again. I grabbed her just in time to be covered in a heave of puke. Nice. Jerry strips the bed and I bathe Grace.

Did I mention we only have one set of sheets for our bed? Did I mention I have puke in my hair? With a clean t-shirt, Gracie cleaned up and re-dressed, our bed cleaned out and made-up with a combination of comforters and blankets from the guest room, I attempted to put Grace back to sleep.Her stomach had other ideas. She started hurling again. I got her to the sink in time to save the makeshift bedding and carpet. Convinced she had nothing left in her, I re-redressed her, changed my t-shirt (again) and started to rock her to sleep. She was tired and fell asleep quickly. The next wave of vomiting hit her as soon as I lifter her into her crib. She needed another bath, clean pajamas, and clean bedding. I gave up and kept my t-shirt on.

I finally got her to bed at about 4. I showered. I was just drifting to sleep when the baby woke up. Again. Thankfully, he wasn't sick, he only wanted to be nursed. An hour later, Grace woke up. She didn't get sick, but we did have to put her in our bed.

You'd think that after such a busy night, she'd be tired the next morning. But no--Grace was up at 7:30 asking for juice. She was playing, so I imagined she was done with being sick. I gave her juice. Fifteen minutes later, she burped so loud, she could have been a man. We were all ready to say, "good job!" when she starting puking again. I scooped her up (my poor t-shirt collection) and made it almost all the way to the sink. Poor baby--she was saying, "Oh no--my nose!". Gross.

I had to cancel for the baby shower. Jerry's Flu seemed worse. Grace had no appetite. I didn't push it. She was clingy and whiny. Wes had a cold and was coughing. I was getting no where on my coursework. But the clean laundry was getting folded! And I sent Jerry to Target to buy Grace some Gatorade and and extra set of sheets for our bed. Saturday night, we ordered Chinese food. Grace ate a ton of noodles and rice with soup broth, which is all I would give her. She went to bed early. So did Wes. I started my school work and so did Jerry. By 9:30, it felt like midnight. I was falling asleep at the keyboard. Jerry had to work the next day. We went to bed expecting to be up all night again. Grace woke up at about midnight, but went back to sleep when we put her in our bed. All was well.

When Jerry got up the next morning, so did Grace. She was fully herself again, talking, playing, laughing. I started the dishwasher. We heard a strange water noise, but figured it was the dishwasher. Jerry left for work. Jerry came back. The driveway was flooded. The garage was flooded. The hot water heater's bottom had rusted out. Jerry called in sick to work (which he WAS) and recruited help to fix the hot water heater.

By Sunday night, the kids were fed and bathed. The laundry was clean and in a giant pile, my school work was 1/3 done, I had no lesson plans, and the kids refused to go to bed or be without me. Jerry couldn't be near the baby because he had the Flu. I was in a panic.

At 11:53, I posted the last of my assignments (due at 11:55) and showered and went to bed. Grace was up and down all night and so was Wes. Monday morning at 4:30 AM, my alarm went off, and I got up and dressed myself and two babies. I drove us an hour to daycare and work on less than four hours of sleep and a weak cup of coffee. Grace ate my breakfast (pop tarts), so please, don't ask me how my weekend was.

I wonder if I'll ever be on time for anything again

I was never so good at being on time before I had Grace. After Grace, things went from bad to worse. And now? With the two of them, forget about it. I want to tell the story of a typical morning at the Sandlin house.

My alarm goes off at 4:30 AM. I am usually already up, nursing the baby, or just drifiting back to sleep from nursing the baby...we are all in one bed, sleeping like a pile of puppies. This was not planned, but as Grace is cutting four eye teeth at once and I can't stay awake through nursing, much less finish nursing and put the baby back in his bassinet...so there we all are (Jerry, too, when he's not on shift). I sneak out of bed to get myself dressed; everything but clothes. If I'm lucky, everyone stays asleep. That is not usually the case. If Grace wakes up, she plays in the bathroom while I do makeup, rearranging my sanitary napkins and extra rolls of toilet paper. If Wes wakes up, I have to make faces at him while putting on my make-up. He likes to "talk" to me. Once my hair and make-up are done, I nurse the baby again, to hold him over to breakfast (he's a big boy, and he likes to eat). Then, it's time to start dressing babies. If Jerry is home, we each take one. Once the babies are dressed, I herd them out the door. Grace likes to grab random things to take to Mrs. Martha's house: an extra shoe, a funny hat, some sunglasses (even though it's 5:45 AM and still dark out)--once she took a giant maxi pad she kept calling a sticker.

The car is already packed with the diaper bag, my things, and several snacks for Grace. Before we pull out of the driveway, she demands we begin the buffet. One day last week, I pulled out of the driveway, only to circle the block because on the way out of the house, she had put down her milk to grab some other random object, and was now screaming for milk. I ran in, got her milk, and we were on our way. I gave her a snack cup of lucky charms (which is not spill-proof, by the way, after they learn to take the lid off) and once she got tired of picking out the marshmallows and throwing the cereal on the floor, she started crying for a cracker. I didn't HAVE any crackers, but I had poptarts, which she ate. At THAT point, I had to pull over to retrieve the THREE binkies she had thrown on the floor and now could not possibly live without. We got back on the road, and she started crying for an apple. I drove the remainder of my one-hour commute trying to get her to stop crying and sing along with the kids' station on Sirius.

That I was only 10 minutes late to work was both miraculous and admirable.

Catching Up and Catching my Breath

My last post was on August 5th. I was lamenting about how uncomfortable and hot I was...how ready I was to have my labor induced...how concerned I was about dividing my attention between two babies...
It's only been three months, but it seems like I was writing that a lifetime ago. I can't imagine our lives without our little Wes. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I was scheduled to have my labor induced on Tuesday, August 18th. My prior exams showed I was dilated to 3, and had been for 3 weeks. We were in a holding pattern.
The weekend was nothing unusual. Jerry worked on Friday. Grace and I went grocery shopping and played outside. On Saturday, the three of us went to Cape Coral to look at another Craig's list find; a fabulous computer armoire. We made arrangements to pick it up the next day.
On Sunday, Jerry and Mike went to pick up the armoire while Grace and I attempted the 9:00 mass. We made it almost to communion! When the guys got back, I picked up lunch: awesome wings and fries from Buffalo Chips. I ate a ton. I spent the day nesting; I set up the bassinet and washed and dried a mountain of laundry. My plan was to fold it after Grace went to bed...the universe had other plans.
Grace went to bed around 7:30. I was feeling tired, but I was 9 months pregnant and had chased a one-year-old around all day. I didn't feel much like eating dinner. I told Jerry I was feeling "crampy". I showered and had a contraction. But it could have been my imagination...I told Jerry, "just so you know, I had a contraction, I think." Just about that time, I had another one.
Jerry: How long since the last one?
Me: ummm....four minutes? That can't be right. I don't know. Maybe they're not contractions.

Jerry suggested we eat ice cream. I whole-heartedly agreed. Four minutes later, there was another contraction. I was confused, because the doctor had said in my exam the week before that I wouldn't be able to walk or talk through real contractions. I was walking and talking fine, so I just assumed it wasn't the real thing.

Jerry: Maybe we should go to the hospital?
Me: They have to be like this for an hour. I'm sure they'll go away.

But an hour later, Jerry was pretty sure I was in labor, with contractions coming every four minutes. Here was the problem: Grace was sound asleep in her crib. My aunt wasn't coming until the next afternoon. I called a friend of mine whose daughter had babysat for Grace once before. She arrived within 20 minutes. During that time, Jerry took the truck to get gas, and I FINALLY finished packing my hospital bag, AND I finished my pre-admission paperwork, too!

When we were on our way to the hospital, I was still insisting that the contractions weren't real, and that the hospital staff would send us home when we got there. But the contractions intensified as we were on our way, and I finally convinced myself I was, in fact, in labor.

When we got to the hospital, I was ushered into a room by an obviously disbelieving nurse (WHY do they think everyone's NOT in labor?), but when she checked me, she changed her story.
Nurse: Oh my. You're at about 7. Give me one minute.
Nurse steps into the hall and quietly closes the door before shouting: We've got to get this girl upstairs!

Two hours later, we were holding Wes in our arms.



The gory details? I got some awesome drug combo in my IV. Contractions still hurt, I just didn't care. I did have an epidural, because I informed the staff that I would not be doing anything with out one. Unfortunately for me, by the time I got one, I was past 8 cm dilated, so the relief wasn't the complete-can't-feel-a-thing-numbing I had with Grace. I still felt. Ouch. My OB wasn't available, but I had seen the on-call doctor before. She broke my water, and there was meconium, which means the baby had had an in-utero bowl movement (lovely). His heart rate and everything still looked fine, though. But we have to have a team from the NICU present when he was born. And we didn't get to hold him immediately; they took him to suction him out really well, to make sure he didn't aspirate any of the meconium (blech). I pushed four times. Seriously. He was HUGE! 8 pounds, 13 oz....