Friday the 13th, muahahahaha! Ah, this is a day that – ten years ago – probably would have brought on some late night celebration of murder themed drinks and a Jason movie marathon. But we’re adults now; and not only are we adults, we’re parents, so let’s keep it together here, people. If I make it through two glasses of wine and the season premiere of Boardwalk Empire (which has been sitting in our DVR since S-U-N-D-A-Y…) we’ll call that a wild night at the Coke House.
Those of you who have/had children in daycare (or “school” as we call it around here) from the age of diapers probably know all about the “Infant Daily Sheet.” These are the little sheets that our teachers use to keep track of what goes on in the kiddo’s day. What time he ate, napped, etc. It’s all on the sheet. For someone who is super OCD and tends to worry more than necessary, the IDS is totally awesome.
These sheets also have a place for “fun activities”, which is where Miles’ teacher will usually jot things like:
– Tummy time! Smiley face!
– Buggy ride around the courtyard! Double smiley face!
– Pulled off our left sock and tried to eat it! Superextrabigsmileyface!
– Parker licked Miles on the face. Not so smiley face.
I love the “fun activities” section, because it puts my mind at ease knowing that Miles is practically having a sunshine-unicorn-magical-cereal marshmallow party at school every day. Seeing how happy he is when I pick him up (I mean, happy to see me of course, but to see that he’s happy at school as well) makes my heart feel good. Working parents, you know it’s tough sometimes.
The IDS also records the time and type of each diaper change. “W” for wet, and “BM” for, well, you know. Now we’re going to talk about poop. Do you know what a diaper “blow out” is? Yeah, me either. Then one day, after I picked up Miles we were settled in the truck, I checked out his IDS. I noticed that one of his diaper changes said “BM!!!!!” And I wasn’t quite sure what the five exclamation points meant. We got home, and I started unpacking his diaper bag, when I noticed a plastic Target bag tied up in there. Still clueless. I open said bag and holy shit (literally). I learned what the exclamation points were for.
Miles has only had this happen three times, and never at home. The last time it occurred, which was earlier this week, there were only two exclamation points. And guess what? Less poop overflow. This means that I can judge the BM explosion by number of exclamation points. Seems rational.
Also this week, I came down with a wicked 24 hour stomach bug. Do you know what it’s like to try and vomit quietly? Let me clarify…to try and projectile vomit quietly? It was Wednesday, and I was feeling icky. Around 8pm, I told Evan I really thought I was going to hurl, and that I should probably go lie down (this means go to bed; it’s the same as when I tell Evan that I’m “resting my eyes”) Miles was already asleep for the night, so I felt okay hitting the hay a little early.
11:00pm. I wake up, all of a sudden, with that feeling. You know the one. I lie there for a minute, waiting for it to pass. It does not. I make it to the bathroom, and it begins. TMI: I was vomiting with so much force that it was actually splashing back up into my face and hair. More puking ensues. Evan comes into the bathroom to check on me. Through flailing, I manage to communicate, “please don’t watch me hurl, even though we’ve been together over ten years, I’m not ready for you to see the romantic mystery that is the worst stomach flu, ever.”
The only thing worse than relentless hurling is trying to relentlessly hurl quietly. No way was I taking the chance of waking Miles up with the horrific laser light show that was my toilet at that moment.
This is incredibly accurate.
Miles, naturally, slept through this entire spectacle. And every spectacle that followed. Every hour, on the hour.
Evan took Miles to school the next morning, and I got to spend the entire day in bed, which isn’t nearly as awesome as it sounds. Thankfully, by Thursday, I was feeling much better. When I dropped Miles off at school, his teacher told me that two other daycare moms have had the same stomach bug this week – but none of the kids. Sacrifices, people…that’s what parenthood is about.
And finally, these have been floating around our office for the past week:
Turn your head and cough.
No one will claim them. I mean, we’re a strange group in our office, but I didn’t think we were latex exam gloves strange…