In my mind there are few things worse than sick kids, especially sick infants. They lack the ability to properly vocalize what is ailing them and instead scream for hours on end. I had a double dose of this over the weekend and I felt as if I was playing whack-a-mole for the majority of the past 72 hours. When one would finally fall asleep the other would wake within 5 minutes. Not a figurative five minutes. Literally five minutes.
The funny thing is both kids were sick with different things. My two month old had a stomach bug which entailed much puking and diarrhea; my twelve month old is still a mystery even after a trip to Urgent Care and two trips to the pediatrician. Her fever has broken, she's eating again and appears to be in good spirits. There's no more puke and no more dirty diapers that leak as I walk them to the trash can outside. The smell over the weekend was horrific, almost as if a skunk had died in their diapers. I'm pretty sure my neighbors down the street can smell my dumpster.
The stench isn't the only thing that lingers from this little adventure; my house looks like it has been hit by a tornado, and the word tornado barely covers the destruction. The trash can is full, the counters are covered, the dishes are piled up, every single toy they own is strewn across the floor and the girls' laundry is pretty much all dirty.
I've showered once in the past 72 hours and I have an immense headache from the screeching I've endured over the past three days. I'm pretty sure I have bits of spit up in my hair but both girls seem to be on the rebound. They're sleeping soundly in their cribs, and I've managed to eat warm leftovers fresh out of the microwave. I'm wearing a clean shirt, and I'm about to take a nice, long, hot shower.
I consider that a victory.
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