all things considered

Last night my son’s fever spiked over 104.  He was hallucinating.  Talking to people who weren’t there.  Kept asking what I was saying when I wasn’t speaking.

Then he absolutely lost it.

“Mommy! Mommy! You’re turning blue!”  He backed away from me like a cornered animal, terrified and crying.  It scared me that he was so frightened.  Of me.

He calmed down.  A while later he was talking in his sleep and waffling between laughing and crying.  It was disturbing.  I finally picked him up and held him.  I was horrified by his grimacing.  HORRIFIED.  I had never seen his face contort like that.

I should have been worried that his fever was past 105.  That he was seizing.  But what most concerned me was protecting my brain.  Handtogod, I was terrified this kid would lurch at me and tear my face off.  If his laugh/crying had been any more guttural, I would have screamed.

———

Needless to say, my flesh is still intact.  We all survived the night.  His fever is lower today.

You can leave the shotgun in the closet for now: so far the flu is probably not the catalyst of the zombie apocalypse.

thedza:

…in my mouth!

What, what?  Whose tiny owl undies are in your mouff?

lilykily:

That is all.

I have tiny owl undies as well.  They are blue.

My son is sick.  The kind of sick that wakes him at 3 a.m. on fire and shivering.  I left him in his bed and went downstairs to get water and Tylenol.  When I came back, I found him clutching the banister for dear life because he was too shaky to stand.  “Mommy, I had to go potty.”

Poor baby.  I scooped him up and carried him into the bathroom.  He was so hot that the skin at his joints was turning a deep red.  “Mommy, my tears hurt,” he whimpered against my shoulder.  I fed him Tylenol and got a washcloth damp with one hand.  Put it on his forehead.  Then his neck.  Then his legs.  Then his arms.

He sat shaking and listless while I frantically looked for a working thermometer.

“Mommy, I just want you to hold me.”

Thermometer found, I watched it skip quickly past 98, 100, 101.  The battery fizzled out at 102.6.  My mommy-cheek/baby-forehead test told me his fever was well over 103.  I tried to coax him into taking a cool bath, more wet washcloths, anything.

We settled on the couch with no blanket.  “Mommy, just lay next to me.”

—-

Today I *have* to work.  None of my daytime coworkers are even in the state.  So I am managing my son’s care from the sidelines, juggling customers, and explaining why the store was not open at 10 a.m.  I have not showered.  I haven’t even changed my socks.  I am tired and feel helpless.  All I want is to comfort my little boy.  I am his mother.  I should be home to make soup.  Ply him with Tylenol.  Feed him fruit juice popsicles.  Hold him close.

If this is learning to give up control, I want no part of it.

if at that moment when I realise I am saying too much

I could just stop talking

instead of digging myself deeper into a verbal snake pit.

jaydensmommie:

rickahh:

and i’m watching icarly. SOOO EXCITING!

I love iCarly. Unabashedly. I will watch a repeat of iCarly many times over and laugh every time.

Me too.  Love it.