Sick baby
Carey's mom came to stay with us on Saturday, so the next day, on Sunday, we planned to go out on a proper date. A stroll through the Art Institute of Chicago and dinner in the city. We left late. I'd gotten V up from her nap, and she just didn't seem right. She was fussy and clingy and uninterested in anything but me. She became extremely upset as I disentangled myself from her, and Pat had to bring her outside so that she'd calm down. Carey and I had to force ourselves out the door.
The Art Institute was great. I wanted to zoom by the stuff I'd seen before (Monet, Renoir, Degas, Van Gogh, Pollock) and see something different, but Carey quite likes Monet's wheatstacks and foggy London, and he's taking an art class right now, so I deferred to him. I was quite taken with Edouard Vuillard's Still Life, Hydrangeas (1905), and still enjoy Renoir, especially the expression on the face of the Woman at the Piano, and the contrast between portraiture and still life in Young Woman Sewing. We were just moving past some of the more museum-y stuff and getting into a really great Deana Lawson photography exhibit on the visual expression of global black culture when the place started to close. We had reservations at a New-American gastropub place Carey had found called The Bristol. Before we went in, Pat called to tell us that V had vomited, and then face-timed with us. V didn't crack a smile, and leaned against Pat the whole time with a listless flat energy. We wanted to forget dinner, but Pat told us she had it under control and would do everything for V that we would. Carey and I decided to try to enjoy dinner but still get back in time to put V to bed ourselves. Dinner was great, but I was in pretty much constant contact with Pat. Good food, good drinks, excellent service, prolonged discussion about rectal temperature.
My girl was hot, quiet, and practically boneless when we got home. She had a temperature and vomited all over both of us as I nursed her to sleep. She woke up in the middle of the night and I nursed her again. I took a sick day on Monday. She was still feverish and would not let go of me or go to Pat. We passed most of the day in my bed. She wore just a diaper, and would nurse for 10 minutes and then sleep for an hour, read a book or two in my lap and stare up at me quietly or with a tiny whimper. She didn't want food, and she didn't poop, but her fever slowly decreased as the day went along, and she didn't vomit again. I went back to work on Tuesday, and Pat had her hands full with a girl who really only wanted momma. But by the end of the day, the only symptoms she still had were decreased appetite and energy, along with crankiness. Today she seems mostly back to her old self, but I'm disappointed to say that she hasn't seemed to have warmed up to Pat that much, especially when I'm around.
Pat has been amazing, and once again I wonder what it would be like to have that kind of support on a regular basis. Last night I got a facial after work. The woman was amazing (small independent practice that I initially found through Groupon). I went into this deep, deep delta wave meditation pre-sleep. It was so weird/wonderful to get home at 8pm with dinner ready, baby bathed, and a zero on the chaos scale.
The Art Institute was great. I wanted to zoom by the stuff I'd seen before (Monet, Renoir, Degas, Van Gogh, Pollock) and see something different, but Carey quite likes Monet's wheatstacks and foggy London, and he's taking an art class right now, so I deferred to him. I was quite taken with Edouard Vuillard's Still Life, Hydrangeas (1905), and still enjoy Renoir, especially the expression on the face of the Woman at the Piano, and the contrast between portraiture and still life in Young Woman Sewing. We were just moving past some of the more museum-y stuff and getting into a really great Deana Lawson photography exhibit on the visual expression of global black culture when the place started to close. We had reservations at a New-American gastropub place Carey had found called The Bristol. Before we went in, Pat called to tell us that V had vomited, and then face-timed with us. V didn't crack a smile, and leaned against Pat the whole time with a listless flat energy. We wanted to forget dinner, but Pat told us she had it under control and would do everything for V that we would. Carey and I decided to try to enjoy dinner but still get back in time to put V to bed ourselves. Dinner was great, but I was in pretty much constant contact with Pat. Good food, good drinks, excellent service, prolonged discussion about rectal temperature.
My girl was hot, quiet, and practically boneless when we got home. She had a temperature and vomited all over both of us as I nursed her to sleep. She woke up in the middle of the night and I nursed her again. I took a sick day on Monday. She was still feverish and would not let go of me or go to Pat. We passed most of the day in my bed. She wore just a diaper, and would nurse for 10 minutes and then sleep for an hour, read a book or two in my lap and stare up at me quietly or with a tiny whimper. She didn't want food, and she didn't poop, but her fever slowly decreased as the day went along, and she didn't vomit again. I went back to work on Tuesday, and Pat had her hands full with a girl who really only wanted momma. But by the end of the day, the only symptoms she still had were decreased appetite and energy, along with crankiness. Today she seems mostly back to her old self, but I'm disappointed to say that she hasn't seemed to have warmed up to Pat that much, especially when I'm around.
Pat has been amazing, and once again I wonder what it would be like to have that kind of support on a regular basis. Last night I got a facial after work. The woman was amazing (small independent practice that I initially found through Groupon). I went into this deep, deep delta wave meditation pre-sleep. It was so weird/wonderful to get home at 8pm with dinner ready, baby bathed, and a zero on the chaos scale.