I stayed at home with 3B, who was recovering from last night’s illness, which only got more exciting after I finished writing. He barfed, oh, I don’t know how many more times. Of course, they were mostly dry heaves, which are just as much fun as, shall we say, productive coughs.
After his last time, he desperately wanted out of his crib, which I understood, so I lay down with him on the lower bunk, where he promptly went to sleep. I spent the next several hours trying to keep my fat ass from slipping off the edge of the bed without waking 3B during my struggles. Note to self: before sleeping in twin bed with 3B, get duck tape.
Finally, I transferred him back to his crib and fell into bed with Mama and her Berlin Wall. Approximately 2.5 seconds later, or so it seemed, 3B was up and ready to roll for the day. Mama headed out and 3B and I settled into a mellow morning of Curious George shows, a Winnie the Pooh video, Elmo’s Potty Time and too many Rocknoceros videos to count. After not eating lunch, a still-exhausted 3B fell right into his nap, as did I.
While he was recuperating from his hard night, I was seemingly getting more sick all morning. There was the congestion, then the scratchy throat, then my joints started to ache, then there were the random aches and pains and the feeling that a John Deere tractor had driven across my abs. No idea what that last one is about, but it was enough to lead me to nap while 3B did.
I had no sooner lay down then Barky began to do his I-have-the-trots dance by the front door, complete with whining and pacing. I lay down to see if he would settle in, but the little Trotskyite stayed out by the front door, singing the red dog blues. So, I did what any bad parent would do: I checked to ensure that 3B was sound asleep, then ran Barky down to do the dirty deed. Even with the time I took to pretend to pick it up (read: smeared it around in the grass), it took all of 10 minutes and I am happy to report that 3B was unharmed. I wish I could say the same for Barky.
Of course, after our naps, 3B woke up fully recovered while I woke up groggy and cranky. Perfect.
Barky seemed fine until just before Mama got home, when he again impersonated a Bee Gees album played at 78 rpm by our front door. When I felt he couldn’t wait any longer, I took him out where he again did the deed, but this time with a trace of blood in it. Hey–don’t you just love how parent blogs don’t pull any punches? So, of course I’m worried, but his vet is closed for the night, and I think it’s being caused by the pain killer he’s been on following his teeth cleaning.
You know, the teeth cleaning where they found a growth in his mouth that has a 10% chance of being malignant and do you want it checked to see if it will kill him or if it was just a little bump on his gums? Of course I want it checked, but what I really want is for a week to go by without any growths or blood or barf, or even all three in 48 hours. Unfortunately, my vet couldn’t arrange that latter option, so I had them send off his bump to wherever the check bumps for whatever they check them for, and felt relaxed because there’s a 90% chance that he’s fine.
Except for the bloody stool, that is.
So here I lie in bed–to dissolve into sleep if I can find a position in which no part of my body feels as if someone is pinching it in vice grips–with my book to read to help me drift off. You know, my book, in which the author explains that the epidemic that Abigail suffers through with their children while John is at Congress in Philadelphia, helping push for and draft the Declaration of Independence, is what we call dysentery today, but what they referred to as “bloody flux” back then.
Charming. Here’s hoping the part that I’m on to now doesn’t include so much barf or blood or scrubbing floorboards with vinegar. Then again, John has just moved to the Netherlands, so even if there’s no illness, it’s still in line with my week, thematically.
And yes, we cut Barky off from the painkillers, although I’m sad to say we don’t have enough money to send him off to Betty Ford to ease the transition, and he’ll be going to his vet tomorrow morning.