The community daycare. They have great hours, sure, but they are also a pestilence party ground.
The end of ZGirl’s first week at day care, she came home with her first cold.
Her first and only cold.
Because it’s lasted – oh, what – four motherfucking months?
Well, there was that time off for the double ear infection.
Let’s not forget the bronchiolitis and RSV.
Sure, other than that, ZGirl’s been the picture of baby health!
We’re not counting the dropping-the-baby-on-her-head event, are we?
There was today. Phone call from the day care director. ZGirl’s running a fever. She’s not herself. Can you come early?
I arrive with the plan to take her home, give some cuddling and hope for a better tomorrow.
I arrive and SEE that the rest of my week is not going to be fun. At all.
Red-rimmed eyes. No, she hasn’t been crying.
I hauled ass to the nearest convenient clinic and got my suspicions confirmed:
Day cares. Gotta love’em.
And just a “funny” little anecdote to end this post. After Mr. DD arrived home late with the eye drops and bactrim (she also has a nasty cough), we ended up having to wake ZGirl up. We administered the eye drops while she was still pretty much asleep, but the bactrim? I need to learn how to install a nasal feeding tube.
So, she’s pissed and I’m walking around with her to get her to calm down and go back to sleep. I had just stepped from the living room into the kitchen (from carpet to tile) when she started to cough. And gag. Annnnnnd majorly throw up, projectile style. All over me, herself, and the floor.
I called for Mr. DD who had just went in to wish XBoy goodnight. I handed her off and stripped down to my bra and underwear right then and there, throwing my clothes onto the vomited formula and walked to the bedroom and put on clean clothes. The only thing going through my mind was gratitude:
Thank GOD she didn’t vomit on the carpet.