Worst Week

It all started with the flu.  Abigail began throwing up one morning while I was babysitting.  She was sitting next to little Scooter whom I had just calmed down from his mom leaving.  Then he lost it when he saw that Abi lost it.  I took Scooter to the living room where he sat and cried on the couch for his mommy (can you blame him...maybe deep down inside he knew that he would have this same bug in a matter of days) .  Then I began cleaning up the mess (thankfully the two smallest girls were in their high-chairs and contained).  Abi kept crying, "My mouth is falling off."

So I spent that day tending to sweet (ha ha ha...rough week with her personality too) little Abigail's needs, wants, wishes, desires.  Although she did spend a good part of the day just laying around instead of being disagreeable.

Side Note:  I have been reading a huge assortment of books on parenting trying to find the method that fits Abigail best.  Angie swears by Love and Logic and my friend Janel had a copy and I am almost through reading it.  Although the methods aren't really working with Abi yet, I think that over time this will help me not be so quick to anger.  Any of you have suggestions of dealing with a child that has a beautiful mind of their very own?  I was so happy when I read on Manda's blog that she had to put the child door lock on the inside of her sons door...I had to resort to that too.  It always makes me feel a little better when I hear of other moms that I hold up on a pedestal suffer with the same parenting problems as I do.

Let me state here and now that I hate the flu.  I hate the clean-up, the smell, the way you feel, the way the people you take care of feel and the fact that if one person in your household has it, you will all eventually have it.

Connor was next on the list.  At least when Abi threw-up she did it on hard surfaces that were easy to clean-up.  Connor freaks out and refuses to move from the spot he is at.  He also refuses to use the towel I have laying by his head, or the trash can sitting next to the bed, or heaven forbid the toilet (I am beginning to think he has a serious aversion to the toilet what with the potty-training failures and all).  So he has to throw up all over his bedding in his own room and his walls.  I spend some time cleaning it up and grabbing blankets to cover his bed with (I only have one set of sheets for his bed...something to put on the shopping list).

Connor refuses to sleep in his room, and I am not about to let him into my bed (with the brand new green velvet quilt I got for Christmas...worldly and selfish, I know) and move all of his blankets onto the floor next to our bed.  I tried to lay towel by his head in case he needed to lost it again, and he flipped out.  So I set it at my feet.

I can't sleep.  Every deep breath, cough, whimper, I am expecting the worst.  Then it happens and I can't grab the towel soon enough and he dirties the last of our blankets, the rug and the wall.  Connor can't stand to be dirty, so amid the melt-down I start a bath for him and get him in the water to calm himself.

While Connor is in the tub, I go back into our bedroom to do damage control.  Todd has curled up on his side of the bed trying to sleep when he mumbles, "gosh, that really stinks."  I absolutely lost it at this point and blurted out, "Well then why don't you actually get up and do something about it!"  He mentions something about having to work tomorrow.  I think he could sense the steam coming out of my ears ("as if my job isn't as demanding or important as yours" I am thinking), because he rolled out of bed, took the blankets down to the laundry and then began bathing Connor.  I finished scrubbing the floor and rug and got Connor settled into his own bed...no sheets and an afghan to cover him.  At this point he is too frightened to sleep by himself and I am not about to clean my bedroom again, so I made myself a bed on his floor.

Now fumes of anger are raging through my system and I can now feel that I am getting the same disgusting bug running through my body that the two kids had.  I couldn't sleep and  all I could think were very selfish thoughts of "Who is going to take care of me when I am sick?  I won't get to take a sick day.  Who will draw a bath for me and let me just sit in silence?  I haven't slept a full eight hours in 14 months.  When will I get a full nights sleep again?"

Then I heard Carly and it sounded as thought she might be throwing up.  I ran downstairs to grab her and brought her upstairs to the bathroom, for fear that I was about to lose it.  Connor then came knocking on the door and from the hours of 2:30-3:30 the three of us hung out in the bathroom.  Carly never threw up.

I put Carly back to bed and started Thursday fresh, however I did call Armadillo and tell her that I couldn't watch her kids that morning.  Connor had thrown up again and I was on my way.

So Thursday morning was when I thought my life couldn't get any worse.  And of course, the Lord always has a special way of humbling you when you think that.  I was in the bedroom and the kids were supposed to be downstairs watching Ratatoullie when I heard little squeals of laughter and three thuds, then a wailing.  I thought it was Abigail and was certain she had fallen down the stairs (it wouldn't be her first time).

To my astonishment, Connor and Abi were at the top of the stairs, they looked at me with fear in their eyes and proclaimed "Carly fell down the stairs" and "I didn't do it."

Carly was on the cement just lying there on her back wailing.  It took an hour to calm her down.  I knew something must be wrong when she just wanted to cuddle.  She is the world's busiest and happiest baby and for her to want to sit and cuddle for any period of time is a shocker.  She has just started walking (yee-haw...that fat little chub weighs 35 pounds and has been giving me some minor health problems) but now she refused to even crawl.

I called my favorite nurse (my sister-in-law, Angie) and asked for her advice.  She recommended I call my Dr. and have her checked out.  So I called the Dr and the Dr told me to take her to Primary Children's right away.  My dad came to watch the two older kids while I took his van and went to Primary Children's with Carly (Todd was at work and then he had a dentist appointment).

They took X-rays (OUCH!!!  They couldn't contort her leg any softer?...but really, they tried and they were kind enough to encourage me not to watch) of her right leg and discovered that she broker her little tibia and fibula.  So she has two splints right now and next week she will get a cast.

Worst Mother of The Year.  Right here, bring it on.  My mom and mother-in-law have been so wonderful and sweet knowing full well that this experience is more painful for the mother than the child.  Tonya asked me if the Dr had prescribed me any muscle relaxers...why didn't I think of asking for one?

So Carly and I didn't sleep much last night and I am now going to spend the remainder of the day discouraging Abigail and Connor from rough-housing with their little sister and finding ways to forgive myself.  I think I will drown my woes in Diet Pepsi.

All in all, it could've been worse.  It could've been her little head and I could've been watching other kids and it could've been one of them.  It could've been worse.  And I am sure that someday there will be another week to top this week, so I guess calling it the worst week just doesn't fit.