Those of you who've been with me since last year know of the ugliness February 2008 wreaked on my family: wicked bad flu (stomach and otherwise) for all four of us, pneumonia for Flynn, whatever other viruses that made the rounds.
It was bad, bad, bad.
This year, though, has been relatively quiet. Frank had a sore throat last week and Evan had a cold, but nothing serious necessitating staying home from school or anything.
Until last night.
The afternoon went swimmingly, pun intended, as the kids dove into their respective lessons at the Y. We came home, they bathed, I made dinner, we ate. You know, the same-old, same-old routine. Then Flynn said, "I'm cold. Mommy, can you make me some warm soup?" She'd eaten most of her dinner, so I did (I tell you I love the Campbell's Soup at Hand). She took her little cup of soup, curled up in the chair in the family room, pulled up a blanket and rested. This is out of the ordinary because she's normally very full of energy; her favorite after-dinner activity being spinning around and around. Huh, I thought, that's strange.
While Evan was working on his math homework, she sat quietly in the chair. Or so I thought but when I looked up from helping Evan and cleaning up after dinner I didn't see her in the chair. I went upstairs and found her curled up in my bed, almost asleep.
Uh-oh.
I took her temperature and, sure enough, she was running a fever of a little over 100 degrees. A dose of Motrin and a good-night book and kiss sent her off to dreamland. She slept fitfully, first in her own bed, then she came and got me sometime in the night (I didn't look at the clock) and wanted me to be with her in the guest room bed. Therefore I also had an uneasy night's rest that I attribute to being repeatedly kicked in the back by size-9.5 little girl feet.
At least she's not vomiting and she has an appetite, though her fever is higher this morning than it was last night.
Presently, she's holed up in the comfy chair in the family room eating her breakfast of oatmeal with honey and cinnamon, some blueberries, and chamomile tea. And she's watching Horton Hears a Who.
I hope this is the worst of it and not a portent of things to come.
It was bad, bad, bad.
This year, though, has been relatively quiet. Frank had a sore throat last week and Evan had a cold, but nothing serious necessitating staying home from school or anything.
Until last night.
The afternoon went swimmingly, pun intended, as the kids dove into their respective lessons at the Y. We came home, they bathed, I made dinner, we ate. You know, the same-old, same-old routine. Then Flynn said, "I'm cold. Mommy, can you make me some warm soup?" She'd eaten most of her dinner, so I did (I tell you I love the Campbell's Soup at Hand). She took her little cup of soup, curled up in the chair in the family room, pulled up a blanket and rested. This is out of the ordinary because she's normally very full of energy; her favorite after-dinner activity being spinning around and around. Huh, I thought, that's strange.
While Evan was working on his math homework, she sat quietly in the chair. Or so I thought but when I looked up from helping Evan and cleaning up after dinner I didn't see her in the chair. I went upstairs and found her curled up in my bed, almost asleep.
Uh-oh.
I took her temperature and, sure enough, she was running a fever of a little over 100 degrees. A dose of Motrin and a good-night book and kiss sent her off to dreamland. She slept fitfully, first in her own bed, then she came and got me sometime in the night (I didn't look at the clock) and wanted me to be with her in the guest room bed. Therefore I also had an uneasy night's rest that I attribute to being repeatedly kicked in the back by size-9.5 little girl feet.
At least she's not vomiting and she has an appetite, though her fever is higher this morning than it was last night.
Presently, she's holed up in the comfy chair in the family room eating her breakfast of oatmeal with honey and cinnamon, some blueberries, and chamomile tea. And she's watching Horton Hears a Who.
I hope this is the worst of it and not a portent of things to come.
4 comments:
Poor Flynn! And poor you. It is never a restful sleep when I sleep with my child.
And can I say, that my poor daughter must have boat feet. She is not 3 until April and wears a size 10 shoe.
One of the kids in The Poo's class barfed at school yesterday and I almost lost my shit. On top of everything else, if we get stomach flu I am RUNNING AWAY FROM HOME.
Hoping Flynn is better very very soon.
The poor peanut. At least she's at the stage where she chooses to rest when she doesn't feel well, rather than me sitting on my kids to get them to chill out for a bit.
I hope, for your and her sake, that she feels better soon!
Hey, at least she asked for soup! My son tries to milk it and asks for McDonald's. (He doesn't get it)
I hope she feels better soon!
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