It’s 9 pm. Tonight Alice was the sickest she’s ever been–limp, feverish, shaking. Scary. She puked all over me. Twice. There was no toweling it off. We had to take a bath together.
If she couldn’t keep her antibiotics down we were in for a trip to the emergency room for an antibiotic injection–doctor’s orders. Charles, the patient and crafty, mixed her antibiotics with milk and spent an hour dribbling tiny amounts into her mouth against her protests. She didn’t throw up. Emergency room trip averted.
She perked up a little once the Motrin kicked in. Enough to get fully cleaned up and go to bed. I’m dreading when it wears off.
There is a garbage bag of pukey clothes by the front door that one of us needs to take to the laundry room–but we are beat.
We really are parents, aren’t we?