WARNING: not for the faint of heart...

We officially survived our first "big boy" stomach virus. I actually thought it would miss us - the 'plague' as I will call it, hit his sitter's house over the weekend, so we stayed away Monday AND Tuesday. I was sure that between the hiatus and the copious amounts of lysol and handwashing, we were safe. We were not. Wednesday night, Daniel tagged along as I helped a friend with her recruiting night at her school (this is how we enroll students in band and orchestra). All was well, until as I was talking to a parent and holding Daniel - then it erupted. All over me, the floor, his beloved Monkey. It continued as I ran down the hall. He got sick again in the bathroom. It was awful. I peeled off his shirt, wiped up what I could and bolted for the car. It was a 15 minute drive home and I was NOT about to have vomit in my car. I got in and prayed that we would make it home and that I would not catch the plague.

Those of you that know me, know that I DO NOT handle throwing up. In fact, the last time I had the stomach bug, and Daniel was just a baby, I insisted on going to the hospital to get that sweet IV drug that makes you stop puking. In my own defense, the only other time I had the stomach bug as an adult was in college, and MANY of us ended up in the hospital, unable to rehydrate - so I have a bad track record with this stuff. I'd take a root canal over this crap any day. So it shouldn't be surprising that my prayer in the car was "hail mary full of grace, and our father who art in heaven, I promise to take such good care of Daniel if you just spare me. Glory be, AMEN"

We got home, and suddenly Daniel realized there was a second casualty in this - MONKEY. I'll spare you the gory details, but Monkey was not suitable to be around any humans. Daniel was upset, but took it like a man, got his second and third favorite lovies (Ottis the Otter, and Kitty the Lion) and climbed in to bed. I put Monkey in a lingerie bag, hoping the tag that said "Not a Toy" and "do not wash" wasn't really accurate. I crossed my fingers and tossed him in.

I got ready for the worst possible scenario. Diapers and wipes and extra PJ's were on stand by. Towels covered the floor with more close by. The trash can was empty and ready for action. I inflated the air mattress so I could camp out if I needed to. After about an hour and half of reading books and getting sick, he fell asleep. My fear of germs won out over my mommy instincts, and I hauled ass out his room for the safety of my room and my bed.

I got up a few times through the night with him, but by midnight, he was out for the night. He was amazing. Never cried or fussed - just stood up, got sick in the trash can, and went back to bed. At 6:30a.m., he was up but was willing to snuggle on the air mattress with me for an hour. By 730 he was up for the day, and wanted milk. Sounded like a bad idea, but he insisted. To my surprise, he kept it down. Then came some juice, and 1 tiny square of toast. Guess we got the really fast moving version of this nasty bug.

By 10:00 am, we were both exhausted, him from being sick, and me from hunger and dehydration - too afraid to eat. We put on some Blues Clues DVD's and napped on the couch until almost 2pm.

Things are going well - and my insane hand washing and lysol-spraying continue. Tomorrow will be back to work for me and back to daycare for Daniel. We survived - and so did Monkey!!! To runs through the gentle cycle and a good toss on low heat - he's as good as new!

Mama's Pretty

Despite my claims that my son is the best baby swimmer, and the funniest, and the cutest, and the smartest, I can't really pass him off as the most verbal child. He is well within the 'normal range' and is picking up words faster and faster, but he has more "Danielisms" than real English. Recently though, if you listen more closely, he is spitting out real words (mostly commands, shouted at you) "Come here! Sit down!" etc. Sometimes we have no clue what he is saying, so we just make up the rest of the conversation.

This evening Aunt Jenny came over to have her practice hair and make up done - ironically, the make up lady is the mother of 1 year old twins, and the hair lady a nanny. With all people being baby friendly, we had a really good evening and Daniel dealt well with not being the center of attention for several hours.

After the professionals left, I was uploading pics and Aunt Jenny took on the task of getting him ready for bed.

"Do you like my hair, Daniel? Do you think its pretty?" she asked
"Mama preeeey" he said
How sweet! Jenny yelled in to see if I heard him
"Thank you baby bear!" I yelled back
"Welcome mama!" he said

What wonderful new words - Pretty AND welcome! Such a change from "mine...NOW!"

(and just for the record - Aunt Jenny looked stunning and truly lovely!)

An answer to the rhetorical question...

...but first, a word on how my son kicks ass at baby swim class. Yes, I just used "kicked ass" when describing what went on at a baby swim class. It is not like the boy with the bone disease is going to be the star quarterback, so really, I'll take any shining athletic moment I can! He was awesome - below you will find a list of the things he was the BEST AT:
1) sliding off the edge
2) jumping off the edge but ONLY on my mommy cue
3) singing wheels on the bus
4) blowing bubbles
5) chasing balls
6) chasing and gathering rubber ducks
7) laying on his back
8) kicking
9) splashing other people
10) voluntarily sticking face in water
Basically, he was amazing. He even got to be the "demo" baby.


And now, onto the rhetorical question. Nearly every day of my life involves a considerable amount of time looking for my keys. I have thrown my keys in the trash, left them in the door, and lost them in Nashville at ???? It just seems that when it comes to putting my keys somewhere, my mind is already way ahead and on to the next task, or else I am doing my purse/briefcase/violin/diaper bag/grocery bag/baby/stuffed monkey/sippy cup/cell phone juggling act, and have lost my keys in the process of not dropping the baby.

Ever since I can remember, I have always asked Daniel where my keys are. I don't even realize I say it, because I say it every flippin' time I try to leave the house. "Where's mama's keys Daniel?" ..."Daniel, have you seen mommy's keys?" Obviously, as a baby, he never answered, and most of his speaking life, he has ignored me, or acted like he didn't understand the words coming out of my mouth.

This morning he is watching Blues Clues and having his morning banana. I'm trying to load the car, and my arms are full. "Where are my keys?" I yelled. Calmly and nonchalantly came "right there mama". I was stunned. In 22 months, I have never heard my question answered. He was listening? He processed? I thought it was funny, until I turned around and saw he was actually pointing at my keys, with his eyes still on Blues Clues, banana in hand, leaning against the couch. I followed his chubby pointed finger, and there, behind my boots, where my keys.

I ran over and smothered him with kisses. I got a little nuzzle in return then he pushed me away (I was in front of the TV...) "Shoe-ies, mama. Right there," I looked at him funny because we both already had shoes on..."Keys shoe-ies," He says again, this time with just a hint of exasperation, as if my questioning look that made him repeat himself somehow inconvenienced him. "oh, I get it - you're telling me my keys were behind my shoes?" I asked. He nods yes, I pick up my keys, and he claps and yells and OVER enthusiastic "yay!". Great...a patronizing 22 month old with a flair for the dramatic... (I cant imagine where who he got that from?)