Everybody right this second please knock on a million pieces of wood for me, because I’m about to say something dicey. Up to now, Henry hasn’t really ever been sick. Knockonwood. He had some tummy troubles with dairy but that was more an intolerance than an illness, and those days are long gone anyway. So we haven’t ever really dealt with a baby who had a fever or a cold or any of that.
What we have dealt with is trying to be a parent to said baby when we ourselves were sick. And not just any old sick, but knocking on death’s door, head over the toilet, literally can’t move a muscle sick. And that, my friends, straight up sucks.
You know how when you’re sick, all you want is your mom? At least that’s all I want. I want a cold rag on my forehead and saltines and my mom to tell me everything is going to be okay. But when you are the mom and you get knocked out, you kind of don’t have any choice but to just keep going. Cold rag and saltines be damned. I mean, it’s not like the kid is gonna say, “Oh I’m sorry you’re sick Mommy and Daddy! Don’t worry about me, I’ll just change my own diapers and feed and play with myself today.” We were pretty lucky this time — Ryan’s worst day was Monday and mine was Tuesday, so we sort of were able to tag team. But even so, I almost don’t even have any recollection of what actually happened on those two days. I mean, we all made it out alive (including Henry) so something must have gone right, but it’s like a black spot in my memory. Oh! And don’t even get me started about breastfeeding with the stomach flu. You haven’t lived until you’ve been trapped underneath a feeding baby and suddenly have the need to toss your cookies.
Anyway! Chalk this one up to good ol’ Chelsea keeping it real just in case any of you are thinking of becoming parents and you want some real talk. Add it to the “Things They Never Tell You” list and file it away for a rainy day! Oh, and you’ll be happy to know, we’re all much better now and Ryan and I both lost three pounds. So there, flu. xoxo