Don't say you weren't warned...
I was home today with the boyz, as Middle and Baby both had preschool programs at school. That started at 10 a.m. Making it impossible for me to attempt even a 1/2 day of work, since I work so frigging far away. But oh darn, it was Friday, it was 70 degrees and sunny, and I had to take a day off.
After preschool, we had a playdate at my friend Jodie's house.
While there, Middle complained of a bellyache.
When we got home, he immediately laid down on the couch. I felt his forehead and he was warm. He was running a fever of 101. I dosed him with Motrin.
And while I ran around the Trenches like a crazy-woman, attempting to gather my
He drank some Gatorade and ate a banana. (I'm foreshadowing here, folks.)
When Hubby and Eldest left at 6 to head to ball practice, I figured I would bathe Middle and get him all comfy-cozy in his jammies.
While undressing, he began to cry and complained that he couldn't bend. His belly? Was completely distended and hard as a rock. Think Sally Struthers and Ethiopians.
I immediately called our pediatrician.
Who happened to still be in his office at 6:30 p.m. and asked me to come right down - gotta love small town doctors (his office is 5 minutes away).
I sent Baby over to our next-door neighbors and gunned it down the road.
3/4 of the way there, while moaning, Middle loudly proclaimed, "I hafta 'frow up."
And he did.
Bright red fruity Gatorade and banana chunks.
All over himself, his carseat and the floor.
While I was driving.
When we arrived at the pediatrician's, I got him out of the car and stripped him down. To his undies. Outside. And left the clothes on the sidewalk. The whole entire time thinking, "I can't believe this is my life right now."
Meanwhile, I had called Hubby right after Middle had horked all over his preshus SUV to tell him to LEAVE PRACTICE. GO HOME. GET CLOTHES FOR MIDDLE. INCLUDING UNDERWEAR AND SOCKS. ALSO? BRING CLEANING SUPPLIES. AND MEET ME AT THE DR.
My pediatrician (keep in mind that he's a 4'10" Korean man who was also Hubby's doctor when Hubby was a child) examined Middle from head to toe and then proclaimed, "I need to do a rectal exam. Hold his legs."
And that? Got the "juices" flowing.
Seems Middle was QUITE, uh....backed up.
"Partially impacted" in medical-speak.
I rushed him to the potty. Where he proceeded to fart and crap for a looooong time.
(It was a triple flusher.)
And I was seriously thinking to myself: THAT was all it took? A rubber glove and some lube? I could have done that at home, had I known! Which, in turn, would have prevented the spewage all over the car.
Middle was a completely different child. Happy. Silly. Like a load had been
lifted dumped. Heh.
How glamorous is my life?
Edited to add: And as I was typing this? Hubby yelled to me from upstairs, "SARAH!" (It was the Panicked Husband Yelp.) So I scurried. Seems Middle wasn't quite done. He pooped his pants. Just now. My poor little buddy.
So I will have a different bed-mate tonight (Middle) whilst Hubby sleeps in Middle's twin bed.
(And I won't even begin to discuss the STENCH of the Trenches right now. Oh. My. Gah.)
GOOD TIMES HERE IN THE TRENCHES. GOOD TIMES.