I've neglected this blog because my household has been S.I.C.K. Ugh. Exactly one day after our Christmas celebration, the quarantine began. The Bun, as the most vulnerable, was the first to fall prey to RSV.
We have a long history with RSV. Poor Miss Chatterbox got sick with it when she was only 11 weeks old and it was brutal. Even after a couple of weeks in Children's Hospital, it was still a full 3 MONTHS before her cough finally went away. 3 years later, the wheezing is controlled, but has never fully left.
I had sincerely hoped to avoid this scenario with The Bun. But alas, Christmas day, she was diagnosed, at 15 weeks old, with RSV. The Bun has been so healthy and robust in comparison to her sister's fragility at the same age, that I was lulled into a false sense of security. That last week before Christmas, I took her everywhere with me. I exposed her to large, germy crowds and I feel some intense mommy guilt about it. I know, I know, even the ER doc told me it wasn't my fault, and that it could have happened whether I took her out or not. RSV can live on a surface for up to 48 hours and we could have brought it home with us instead.
YUCK. Like I needed something else to feed my Clorox wipe obsession. I went into full on sanitation mode with that info. No surface, toy, phone, shoe, light switch, ceiling fan, rug, bedding, carpet in my home was spared. Not even The Firefighter.
Helpful Marital Advice: Don't try to sanitize your spouse with Clorox wipes or Lysol. They don't like it. Not even if the Lysol is manly smelling.
The Bun still has a long way to go, but 11 days in, she has exceeded all expectations. While we did end up in the ER, she didn't even have to stay overnight. So, I am hopeful she will avoid the whole asthma game. But she isn't leaving the house again until she's at least 21. Or in a Bio level 4 hot zone suit enveloped in duct tape and bubble wrap.
I was the next to fall prey to the nastiest stomach flu, I have ever encountered in my 31 years of life. 8 days later, I still feel like POOP! Oh well, this too shall pass, right?
With The Firefighter on crazy overtime, me hugging the porcelain throne or occupied with The Bun, Miss Chatterbox has been left to her own devices a little too often....
I kinda wish I had been a little more with it and taken photos so I could give you a the pictorial version of my week. But, who am I kidding? I was feverish and puking my guts up, yo. I was in total survival mode.
Let's call this adventure, Miss Chatterbox Discovers the Fridge or The Gift that Keeps on Smelling.
Now, I've been pretty lucky, in that in almost 3 years, Miss Chatterbox has never really messed with the refrigerator. That changed 8 days ago. During one of my numerous trips to the john, I hear a cracking sound followed by her shrieking in delighted giggles. Then repeated. And repeated again. Sigh. I knew exactly what this meant, so since this had to be an extended visit to the crapper - ahem - I call to her in my new found "mom voice." As she rounds the corner, I see no less than 6 egg yolks streaming down various parts of her body and dripping onto my carpet. Gotta admit, it was a pretty funny sight. She was certainly happy with herself and I didn't have the heart to ruin it by correcting her. But, since my mother instilled an intense fear of salmonella in me, I quickly plopped her in my bathtub (a rare treat) and finished my business - ahem. What? I'm a mom. I'm used to an audience.
When I came out to the kitchen, it really wasn't the disaster I had expected. I cleaned it up quickly and moved on to tending to The Bun's next round of breathing treatments and turned on Dora for Miss Chatterbox (have I mentioned how much I HATE Dora? Where the bleep are her parents? Why do they let a preschooler wonder all over creation with an f'in monkey on her shoulder and a talking map? Could her voice be anymore annoying?) Have you spotted my colossal error yet, my smarter than me friends? That's right, y'all. I cleaned up without inventorying the fridge.
That night, when I go to make a quick dinner for Miss Chatterbox (all the while cursing the FD, Boo, and overtime marathons) I realize we are missing the mayo, egg salad, and yogurt. AND I don't find them in any of the usual places, but I'm too tired and sick and put much effort into it. I figure that I'll look for it in the morning. After all, they are sealed up. How much could it stink?
The next couple of days blur together in a feverish haze and the mystery of the missing food has completely slipped my mind.
Until, The Firefighter walks in the door and says, "Good God, babe, what the $%&* is that SMELL?"
Oops. My bad.
So the search began. After an agonizing and gagging two hours, with more than one visit to the toilet for me, we find the missing items. The mayo was under the couch and the yogurt in her dresser. Luckily, both were unopened.
However, the egg salad container had blown up and we found it spewing it's contents all over my favorite, extra large, special ordered, monogrammed, Vera Bradley tote bag hidden WAAAYY back in the very furthest corner of my closet. Can we say, EWWW GROWDY!
Mmmmm, egg salad. Hungry, anyone?