Of All Weeks

This last week was not the week for sickness to enter our lives. And not just any sickness, the sickness I fear most.

Hot Date.

I got the shot to boost my white blood cell count on Wednesday and Thursday, finally felt well enough for a hot date night with my man candy on Friday night and we ended our romantic evening with Merrick getting a visit from the vomit fairy. We're all about the romance here and I'm all about cleaning up puke while wearing skinny jeans and wedges!

The cocktail kept under the sink for weekends such as this!

So a weekend meant for boosting my immunity the artificial way started with me boosting it the legitimate way. Nothing like cleaning up recycled strawberries everywhere but in the bowl I provided, holding a cold ridden toddler who was wheezing his way through the night, sleeping next to a husband with a Man Cold and finally wrapping up the weekend with some random toddler vomit on Monday morning.

The toddler vomit session was a one hit wonder and is being blamed on too much mucus dripping down to the belly. Thankful for that, as I don't think those silly little neutrophils could have survived another round of the stomach flu.

It's less than 24 hours before my fifth treatment and I've managed to somehow survive it all, despite the over usage my magic vomit cleaning cocktail, loading vomit covered towels, blankets, pillows and clothes into the washing machine for hours on end and spending many a good hour holding a sickly baby.

Lachlan chose a highly inappropriate time to vomit. For starters, he was sitting on couch. The very couch that had already been blessed by Merrick's strawberries a few nights before. I also happened to be walking out the door for a routine follow up with my surgeon that morning. With some slight and immediate logistical shuffling, Merrick ended up going with me to the doctor and Memaw stayed on high alert for round two.

This is when I am grateful that I've been keeping our easy-to-pick new couch covered in a sheet. That sheet made the damage minimal and makes me think it's still possible to return this couch I already loathe.

"And this is where your poop comes out. Poop, poop, poop, poop."

Merrick enjoyed being my escort to the surgeon's appointment. My inquisitive scientist had to understand exactly why he was throwing up and where it all came from. Thank you The Gas We Pass, for without you and your diagrams, we would have been lost on Sunday night when the train of digestive questions started chugging out of Merrick's mouth.

While at my appointment with my colorectal surgeon, he was thrilled to see this poster and proceeded to explain it to me. There's nothing quite like being educated by a 4 year old, but we are merely blank slates without their infinite knowledge. Without his degree-worthy information of our digestive system, I'd be lost. Where's my sigmoid colon again?

He also loved that he could use the opportunity to say things like "poop" and "fart" outside of the bathroom. We're really working on the "potty words only in the potty" movement. No pun intended when I just said "movement."
 

The Man Cold: