Well, now I'm totally over puke.
I got home from work Monday night and felt nauseated. It wasn't horrible, but I wasn't hungry at all and I had no energy. I basically parked myself on the couch and let David deal with dinner, bath, and bedtime all on his own.
I ended up barfing around 9:00 pm--a huge, splashy production that was a horrifying shade of bright pink as a result of eating blueberries with lunch.
When I finally dragged myself up to my bed around 11:00 pm, Zuzu was in it (not a surprise), but David was gone, and our duvet had been replaced by a quilt. Zuzu was awake and I asked her what happened to the duvet, even though I already knew the answer: "I fro-ed up."
"Oh," I said, "Me too, honey."
Then I went to the bathroom and barfed again.
Then Zuzu asked me if I'd been eating boogers because as a booger-eating deterrent, I've told her that eating boogers makes you throw up. (In my defense, it seems plausible. In retrospect, not such a great plan since I don't want her to assume that when I get sick it's because I've been eating boogers. Gag gag gag.)
The next morning I had a huge headache and my entire body hurt. I canceled class, made David bring the baby to me to nurse.
He ended up staying home from work also. He wasn't barfing, but he had no appetite and felt achy. He went ahead and took both the girls to school, as Zuzu was cheerful, ate a normal breakfast, and asked if she could go. (Nobody had a fever or anything.)
So we hung out in bed and on the couch yesterday, binge-watching Bloodline on Netflix (which is super good but kind of dark--it deals with a family who lost an older child, but it has no baby/pregnancy triggers--at least so far, I haven't watched all 13 episodes yet), and eating nothing. At 4:00 pm, David went to pick up the girls and I made myself take a hot shower. I felt a little better after that, so I ate some toast and applesauce. David (weirdly) had two popsicles for dinner.
This morning, we were both feeling much better. David headed off to work and I got the girls ready for school. Zuzu wanted yogurt and pancakes for breakfast, so I fixed that for her, and Coco and I ate Cheerios.
We headed out the door ON TIME (a summertime miracle!) and I was feeling pretty good about that. I glanced in my rearview mirror about halfway to their school and saw that Zuzu had fallen asleep in her carseat.
This has never happened on the way to school before.
She woke up immediately when I parked and I joked with her that she could go have second breakfast with Miss Randine, or she could go lie down in her cot.
She asked to lie down on her cot.
This has also never happened before.
So clearly something was not right, and I decided I wouldn't stay and do essay evaluations in my office, but I'd pick her up right after class got out at 12:15 pm, so she'd only be at school about 3 hours.
I hauled Coco out of the car in her pumpkin seat (even though she is really getting too heavy for me to haul her around in that thing), and started to walk toward the school holding Zuzu's hand.
When Zuzu stopped short, bent over, and barfed up pancake and yogurt.
I tried to say comforting things, though I mostly wanted to say THANK YOU for not puking in my car.
So now I'm at school, it's 9:00 am, I have a 25-minute drive to campus, my class starts at 10:15 am, and my kid is puking in the parking lot.
I wanted to scoop her up and take her home and cancel class, but having already canceled the day before, I really hated to miss two days in a row since the class is only four weeks long--I wouldn't be able to cover everything on my syllabus.
I ended up dropping off Coco (who will hopefully avoid this plague), taking Zuzu home to change her out of the clothes that got puke on them. I considered taking Zuzu to school with me and teaching an abbreviated class, but I ended up calling our neighbor, who came over to watch Zuzu for a couple hours while I drove to campus and taught.
Zuzu was lying on the couch when I left, watching Sesame Street, but when I got home she was building an "ice palace" with wooden blocks in the living room. She was still pale, but she asked me if she could have dinner, so she ate some applesauce and a Hawaiian roll.
This was after she burst into tears because she wanted bread with "cheese"--she calls butter "cheese" like cream cheese because she always wants cream cheese on her bagel, but one time we were out of it so I just substituted a generous helping of butter and now she seems to think they are interchangeable, so don't be confused. The problem was that she wanted it cut out in the shape of a butterfly with our cookie cutter except I couldn't find the cookie cutter. I tried to explain this, but she insisted that "Daddy said" she could have her bread cut like that (we did cut her toast like a butterfly and bunny weeks ago on a lazy Sunday morning when we had time for that kind of nonsense).
I tried to freehand a butterfly shape with a regular knife (that looked pretty good, if I do say so myself), but then she cried because when she picked it up it kind of fell apart and so I ended up just tossing it and busting open a package of Hawaiian rolls because she loves those so much.
After lunch she asked to watch another show, and since I needed to evaluate essays and screen time when you're sick doesn't even count, I said sure. She fell asleep watching Mickey Mouse's [Godforsaken] Clubhouse and remains asleep, which means I need to pump again before I go pick up poor Coco-Puff from school.
So, yeah, I get it: Complain about cleaning up poop, and the universe will give you a DIFFERENT, but EQUALLY GROSS product of bodily waste to deal with. Message received.