The Birthday Gift No One Wants

Well, for Emerson’s 1^st birthday, he was wonderfully gifted with a GI virus this week. Indeed, it turned out to be one of those gifts that keeps on giving, and he was benevolent enough to share it with his parents (as well as a babysitter and a friend that came over mid-week, so it seems). Given the evident two-day incubation period of said yuck-ness, it appears that E got the bug from the church potluck last Sunday. But really, considering the kid also manages to lick the bottom of my shoes and suck on the handle of grocery carts, I can never be sure!

Regardless, last Tuesday morning we had the privilege of being awakened to the sound of projectile vomiting (it went three feet!). And given that E was sleeping between us at the time, it was not a pretty sight. Thankfully (so I thought), his one year check-up was that day, so I figured our pediatrician could check him out, find out what was wrong, and that would be the end of that. Well, nothing was discovered, and to be honest I probably made matters worse by opting to go ahead with a new vaccine. Ugh. An hour later, I’m home and Emerson is delivering his first of many diarrhea-filled diapers over the next few days. We quickly decided to switch from cloth to disposable diapers for the week (a very wise choice, indeed).

It is at this point that I’m realizing the manifold convergence of things of which, just one would typically mess up the poor kids’ system: a growth spurt, daylight savings time (whoever came up with that surely did not ask parents how even one hour can completely wreck a child’s sleep schedule), a nasty GI virus, and now a vaccine. Nice. By Wednesday, we’re going through diapers right and left (our poor babysitter!) and Emerson’s completely lost his appetite. We were getting worried that he may be getting dehydrated by the evening and got even more concerned when he would wake up to our multisensory wake-up calls, which we decided to perform once it was determined we should try to force some fluids down his throat (If you wonder why your child refuses to drink Pedialite, try drinking some yourself!). Needless to say, we were surprised by how much hydration the kid had when he proceeded to gag on the fluids we gave him and transformed into a geyser. We now have a very frustrated, tired, crying baby (who is even more dehydrated) on our hands.

Thursday was full of even more fun when Amber and I woke up with the same symptoms as our son. How do you explain to your child that you’re sick too? It’s one thing to care for a sick kid; it’s another to do so when you’re sick yourself! While Amber went off to work (and trying to find subs for the rest of her jobs that day!) with bucket in hand (it reminded us of her first trimester. Hey, she even got to make use of it on the drive home!), I sat Emerson down on my lap and read him a few books. It was all going so well until I felt wetness in my lap and looked down to discover a huge puddle of E’s yuck-ness on my pants and on the floor. Can we say shower number two? And Emerson, you’re getting in with me! The day hit a climax when we went through three diapers in five minutes, and I decided it was time to take him back to the pediatrician and ensure he didn’t need a trip to the ER (thankfully, he didn’t although he did lose a half pound in two days, which keep in mind, is about 5% of his body weight!). I spent the rest of the night (and most of the afternoon actually) fully clothed under winter blankets in bed with chills and shivers plus a migraine.

Friday and Saturday included more of the same, so we made the wise choice of staying away from our friends for the weekend, but thankfully, things were beginning to get better. Although, we were getting pretty sick (no pun intended) of changing diapers. E’s not a fan of changing diapers to begin with, and the difficulty of the situation only compounds when there’s so much crap flying around to try to avoid, wipe up, prevent him from putting his hands into, all while pinning a boy down that would prefer to be naked. Finally on Sunday, Amber and I felt more like our normal selves and E showed signs of regaining his appetite but God only knows when his system will finally get straightened out (maybe we went back to cloth diapers a day too early…).

So, if we offended you by not showing up to your party this weekend, you should be glad, because we would’ve come with a gift you could neither return or place in a white elephant exchange. If we offended you by getting you sick, sorry Jamie and Kylie. And if I offended you by my bizarre and off-color desire to blog about diarrhea, well, stop being so Victorian, because it’s part of being human! I’ve often heard that what differentiates us from angels is that we have free will and have been offered grace for redemption (oh and Rob Bell notes we are sexual beings too). But we are also beings that puke, have bowel movements, and give us some pretty odorous smells from time to time. We are humans, not angels—and our God is OK with that. The Jesus that wept, mixing sweat with tears, tears with dirty hands, dirty hands as part of a body that probably rarely took a bath, most likely had his own share of GI viruses and puked on Mother Mary when she burped him. Indeed, he was probably a strong-will hellion who screamed at bedtime, threw his food on the floor, and cried when a toy was taken from him, because well, that’s just what kids do [there was an hour hiatus before I wrote that last sentence that I spent trying to convince my own screaming child to go to sleep].