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Oh Slumber, Where Art Thou?

by verdemama on August 2, 2010

Oy, vey. This day wins the prize for the longest ever. Let’s see if I can stay awake long enough to type a few sentences to describe the past 20 hours.

The short version of the story goes something like this: Orion has had a 100 to 102 degree fever on and off since yesterday. No biggie—it happens, and it doesn’t seem like anything serious. He’s been in a good enough mood, but I’m just having to take extra precautions to make sure his fever doesn’t spike, he doesn’t get dehydrated or anything else weird happens. I kept him busy all day—we went to the beach to enjoy a cool ocean breeze and we stopped by the library to get him the movie Cars (even though he doesn’t watch movies or TV, I thought this might be a treat because he’s 100% obsessed with all things cars and trucks).

Yesterday, feelin’ a-okay

As the day wears on, his fever is getting worse and worse, and by 5pm, he’s on fire and acting like it. He squirmed through about 10 minutes of Cars before blowing that off completely, and I’m starting to realize I’m in for a very long evening, especially considering Erik is off on a business trip all week, which means I have absolutely no backup or relief.

I attempted to stick to the routine, but it didn’t unfold as I had hoped. Dinner? No thanks. Bath? Hell no. I wrestled him into some room temperature water in an effort to cool him down, but I’m pretty sure maniacal screaming does nothing to reduce body temperature. Usually we read books and head off to bed after the bath, but there’s no way that’s happening tonight. So I resorted to my failsafe plan—load him up in the stroller and set out on a neighborhood trek. Five minutes into the walk, he decides he doesn’t want to ride in the stroller, he wants to walk. Which is fine, except now I’m pushing an empty jogging stroller and trying to keep the reins on a fever-crazed toddler running barefoot through the park in his PJs at dusk.

Anyway, I said this would be a short story so I’ll condense the rest, which includes the following: four or five failed sleep attempts, reading every book in his library, watching videos of school busses and fire trucks on YouTube, “helping” me fold laundry and do dishes, and pacing the entire length of the house about 1,200 times. I finally succeeded in getting him to sleep at 10:30, a good 2.5 hours after his usual bedtime.

And now? I must drag myself to bed so I can recharge and get up and do this all over again. Single parents, I salute you. I don’t know how you do it.

Oh! And I almost forgot to mention that the cat came in from outside and jumped up to sit on my lap with a, um—how do I say this politely?—A BIG TURD HANGING FROM HER HINDQUARTERS, which I had to forcibly remove (with a paper towel, mind you).

That’s it. I’m officially off to bed. (Right after I sanitize my hands in boiling water.)

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