Puke-tastic Wednesday

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Sad sack in penguin jammies.  

I've been picking up some legal work lately and it's been taking up a lot of my spare time.  Which is to say, the moments that I am not utterly needed by one or both of my children, I sit down to draft a motion or two.  I love being able to contribute financially, even though it's not a whole lot.  I like being able to keep my resume honest, and to exercise my brain a bit.  But I do not care for being stretched so thin some days that I am not good at, or pleased about, the too many tasks at hand.

It's not that I never have time to work.  I do, though it means forgoing all hobbies and most relaxation.  The main issue is that the work of a caretaker is totally unpredictable and allows for no putting off.  The inferior design of our offspring does not end with their chillingly floppy necks at birth, or the fact that as infants passing what is essentially high-pressure poop water requires strained grunts. Children also lack snooze buttons. And child who is hungry, tired, hurt, or sick needed you five minutes ago.

Today was Edie's last day of school for the week.  She attends Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.  I miss her in a way, but truly life with her at home all day everyday was unmanageable.  And I love having some time alone with the shiny new baby.  This is only her third week at school, and despite its notable challenges, school has been a good thing.  And though it’s only her third week, I’ve gotten real used to this set-up.  Playing lawyer while Eli sleeps, and when he wakes, cuddles and luxurious stroller walks through my neighborhood, basking in the company of a child who has not yet learned to fill the air with “Mama, mom, mommy. What’s that? Where is that guy going? Are we going to a friend’s house? Where’s dad? What did you say? Mom? Mommy? Mama?!”  It’s all been working out pretty well.

So I was less than pleased when Ms. Preschool Teacher called me this morning less than an hour after Edie was dropped off to tell me that Edie seemed sick.  I knew that I had sent the kid to school with some minor sniffles.  I did.  And I had some hesitation.  But another human child defect is that their noses run like 50% of the time.  This obviously has a lot to do with the fact that they spend a great deal of time acquiring every germ in a five-mile radius.  Don’t put that in your mouth! you will beg.  And then they will put it in their mouths, and look at you with dead eyes, as the bacteria which once coated the floor-Lego at Target gets transferred to their bloodstream.  But it wasn’t the sniffles that earned me this phone call.  It was projectile vomit.  I wanted to pick up my daughter immediately, of course.  But more than that, I wanted to rewind back to the happy place where I was drinking coffee, wrapping up two projects, and contemplating one of those lovely unhurried days where you clean your house with a song in your heart – instead of as fast as you can so you can retain some dignity when the visitors arrive.  

When I came up to the door, Edie was there, dazed and pukey. “Mama, I did vomit.”  The teacher warned me that there was vomit on her shoes.  And on the sweater she’d warn.  This was in addition to the clearly visible vomit all up and down the child’s shirt and pants.  And it was just a warm-up for the heart breaking and disgusting day we were about to have.  Suffice it to say that the mini steam cleaner we bought paid for itself many times over. But the thing is, though super sad and nauseous Edie needed 100% of me 100% of the time, Eli needed 100% of me about 33% of the time, and then work needed me sometime.  But sometime today.  Because outside of my personal Groundhog Day vortex, there are deadlines. 

There was a magical moment when Eli was sleeping and Edie, in spite of her best efforts, drifted off for about twenty minutes.  I was able to return the work call that I’d gotten earlier while I was driving home with a screeching three-month old and a pitifully sick and sad two year old.  Watching that call come in, avoiding even touching the phone lest I accidentally answer it (and almost certainly turn it onto speakerphone instantly), makes me feel like an imposter.  

There were less magical moments, like when I was rubbing Edie’s back as she let loose into a bucket and Eli woke up, screaming himself into a sweaty rage as he waited to be rescued.  I did manage to finish everything I needed to as my alter ego, Lawyer Lady.  And I was glad to be here for Edie, to wipe her face and to answer her question “why am I sick, mom?” over and over again.

I have days that I wish I worked.  But I don’t have any days where I wish I wasn’t here with these kids.  A break now and again?  Absolutely.  Armed with my steam cleaner, though, I feel really lucky.