Last week, Harrison spent four days at daycare. Tuesday through Friday. By Sunday evening, he was sick and throwing up everything he ate. We chalked it up to massive spit-up and took him to daycare on Monday morning anyway - other than the vomit, he seemed perfectly fine. We mentioned it to the teacher and her response was, "Yeah, I think a virus was going around the babies last week, they were all spitting up like that last week." (Now you tell us.) Monday afternoon, he was sent home with a fever and instructions not to come back the next day (don't have to tell me twice) and to bring a doctor's note upon his return.
For reasons I won't complain about right now, I have no sick time, no vacation time...nothing. So it fell to daddy to stay home with Baby Harrison on Tuesday. It broke my heart not to be the one at home with him, not because I didn't trust Peyton, but because I want Harrison to always know I'll be there when he needs me. Well, long story short - he didn't need me. Peyton did a fantastic job taking care of Harrison, who sort of looked like a faker by the time the day was over. Really, as soon as we left daycare on Monday, he smiled and played and didn't fuss and was basically as happy as he's ever been. And that continued all through Tuesday, along with a complete disappearance of the vomit episodes. I'm telling you - he doesn't want to be there. That's my boy!
Wednesday, it was business as usual and he returned to daycare, Peyton returned to work, and all was well again. Until I dropped him off this morning. As soon as I opened the car door to get him out, he threw up all over himself and his car seat. I decided to take him in, if only to clean him up. I changed his diaper and outfit, put his messy one in a bag to take home and told the teacher what had happened and to keep an eye on him. She took his temperature and it was only 98.9, so I turned to leave, but the bag I had just put Harrison's dirty clothes in was gone. I asked the teacher if she had seen it and she said no. I asked the others in the area - all said no. I searched everywhere I had been. Nothing. So....AWESOME. Someone probably threw it away. Jerks. I left.
When I got to the car, I saw H's paci sitting on the seat and ran back into the daycare to give it to him. In the 3 minutes since I had been gone, a snotty-nosed older baby had crawled over to him was playing with his toy arch and practically climbing on top of him while the teachers just stood there watching with smiles on their faces. Seriously? Am I the only person with any reason around here? I just told you he's throwing up. GET THE SNOTTY BABY OFF OF HIM. For argument's sake, let's say I didn't just tell you he's throwing up...GET THE SNOTTY BABY OFF OF HIM.
Now I'm just sitting here waiting for the phone call to come pick him up again. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm actually kind of hoping for it. I don't want the poor guy to feel badly, but I'm pretty sure that once he's home...he won't.
Next subject, no segue. I want to share this with everyone I know. One of my childhood friends is going through, hopefully, the biggest struggle of her life. There is an online fundraiser this weekend to help pay for in-home care, as she is unable to care for her new baby alone. Long story short (both links below tell her story in more detail), she has severe epileptic seizures, around 25 per day, most of which cause her to lose consciousness. Her baby's cry triggers the seizures, as does standing for longer than one minute, so she has had to rely heavily on other people to care for her baby. One of her blog entries, titled "What's It Like to Be a Mommy?" is a must-read and makes my heart break for her. If I couldn't comfort Harrison when he was upset or even stand at his crib to put him to bed each night, I'd probably lose my mind.
The Foxhole Relief Project
Welcome to the Foxhole - Their Blog