Last night I was feeling off. Just… not feeling quite right, you know? Anti-social, overwhelmed, that sort of thing. I headed upstairs to run William’s bath and suddenly heard him screaming downstairs. This is the 3rd or 4th time since Friday that this has happened, and I came out of the bathroom yelling, “NOT AGAIN! REALLY. NO, NO, NO, NOT AGAIN! THIS HAS GOT TO STOP!”
He had fallen again, tripped over something or slid on something or who knows what. The result is a bloody nose and bloody mouth and my ultra paranoia that he’s gonna somehow knock his front two teeth out. That is my biggest fear when he falls, those two front teeth. His face was contorted with fear and pain, tears pouring out of his eyes, blood oozing in his mouth turning his teeth a weird yellowish red. I can’t see anything in his mouth because of the blood and that frustrates me. Tony handed him over to me, he warned me that, “He has blood on his fingers.” Great. I’m wearing a new, pale yellow blouse, now I’m worried about him wiping his blood stained hand on my shirt and feeling torn that I don’t care. My baby is crying.
I took him to his room and latched him on to nurse. He’s still crying, sniffling and whimpering. I’m trying to determine by his latch if he still has all his teeth. He unlatches to look up at me, tears swimming in his eyes, he whimpers. I stroke his forehead, whisper that it’s OK. He latches on again. Tony is there in front of me, concerned and upset, a wet washcloth in his hand dabbing William’s bloody nose and swollen lip as he nurses. I know it was an accident, he was right there with William when he tripped over his toy… and I tell him again, “This has got to stop. It has to stop.” He tells me that it won’t, that he’s still learning to maneuver himself. And I respond, “This is just too much, too many accidents. It’s got to stop.” He leaves, William soothes and we do his bath and I nurse him to sleep.
I suddenly feel cold, tired, exhausted. Tony had gone to the gym while I put William down and I stumbled out of William’s room and decided I was going to bypass my swim tonight and go straight to bed. Even though it’s somewhat warm in the house, I turn on the electric blanket on my feet and put on long stretchy yoga pants for warmth. I crawl into bed and fall asleep, only to be awakened by William’s cries at 10:42pm. Unusual, but he obviously is in pain. I go to him and nurse him back to sleep, fighting a cough the entire time he’s nursing. I chew peppermint gum to stave off the cough… finally he’s asleep, now instead of feeling cold, I feel super hot.
I grab the thermometer and take my temperature. 101.2. Huh. No wonder I was feeling off. Other than the cough I’ve been battling for a week now, I have no other symptoms. I decide to go back to bed. I wake again at 3:20am, I hear William shuffling around in his bed. I decide to go nurse him, knowing that will soothe his restlessness. I take my temperature again, 102. The hell?
I take some Advil and head back to bed. The room is too hot. I can’t breathe. I finally get up and open the window, turn the ceiling fan on, knowing full well that the stupid morning doves will coo right outside the window at 5am. Oh well.
5am, there’s that morning dove, and there’s me shutting the window. William is awake, but snoozing off and on. I know I’ll go to work, my co-worker’s son’s graduation is today and she is out most of the day. I have no choice but to go to work.
So here I am. Sleep deprived. Weirdly sick. Drinking water. Wishing I were home. I still don’t know why I’m running a fever. I’ve also decided that since William gets klutzy when he’s tired, he is not allowed to walk after 7:00pm. That makes sense, right?
I just want to ask, what the hell was last night all about??