Life here has been blowing by us as fast as a tree out the window on the TGV. Mama’s mom and nephew–yes, my nephew as well, but I was trying to clarify the consanguinity–were here at the end of last week and through the weekend.
3B loved playing with Grammy and his cousin, after he was done refusing to be held or even touched by either one of them while he was screaming at them for a whole day about how much his new teeth hurt. Charming.
After he made his peace with his eyeteeth (we think–he already has eight choppers up front and four molars . . . is this kid secretly an Osmond child or something?), it was off to the races. Our whirlwind weekend included trips to our pool, a museum, our pool, the White House, and our pool, culminating with a fierce miniature golf tourney followed up by the best damn frozen custard in the world.
Immediately after Grammy and cousin departed yesterday, 3B welcomed our new house guest–the amazing barfing virus. Yes, on the return trip from the airport, a snack and a load of milk also made a return trip. He’s been able to eat some since then, and drink plenty, and it seems to stay down, but he’s as hot as a snake’s ass on a Texas highway in August, so we took him to the doc last night.
We were lucky to get one of our favorite nurse practitioners–it’s a collaborative practice, which is why they were still open at 7:00 p.m. She said that his throat was bright red with a few ulcerations, so she tested for strep, which came up negative. After Mama and I completed our victory dance–no, we didn’t spike 3B–the NP diagnosed a virus and prescribed a bland diet, fluids, and rest.
The assisting nurse was sure we wouldn’t get any rest, but that’s been the easiest part, since the fever is mostly making 3B lethargic. He’s content to drape himself over us like a hot blanket and suck his thumb most of the time, and he went to sleep as soon as we got home, sleeping soundly through the night. I’m not surprised that the nurse took pity on us, since 3B was a hot screaming mess for most of his visit in large part because they had us strip him and hold him down on his back several times while they pushed long sticks into his throat.
Dude, I hated that crap as a kid, so as far as I was concerned, all his screaming was justified. Heartbreaking, painful, and piercing as well. Mom wasn’t lying when she said that watching us be sick was worse than being sick herself. Now I get to see exactly what she was talking about, and I mean exactly, because along with the red hair and fish-belly white skin, I seem to have passed on to 3B my sick-boy whine. When Mama described the low, rhythmic, moaning whine that emanated from 3B all the way home after he barfed, I again had to apologize for my contribution to 3B’s genome.
And watching Mama tend to 3B and later, helping her clean up, I saw in her care for him the love that Mom gave me when I was sick–holding me, rubbing my back, and laying cool washcloths on my head. It made me grateful again for everything that Mom gave me, grateful that Mama’s mom makes the effort to come visit so 3B can play with his cousin and Mama can get that irreplaceable momlove, and grateful that, while I was washing toys in the sink and Mama was scrubbing out the car seat after dealing with 3B–Barfy, Burning Bradstein–all day, Mama never asked, “IN FACT, WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOIN’ IN THE CAR SEAT? YOU’RE THE MOTHERFUCKER WHO SHOULD BE ON BARF DETAIL!”