Bimbo, Bimbo, on the Uncle Bobby Show...
Apr. 4th, 2005 04:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
handful_ofdustHappy Birthday to me/
My son cannot pee/
Because he’s dehydrated/
Ha ha, and hee hee.
Yeah, that’s about the size of it. After crawling like a fiend for most of the day, Cal began to scream, vomit and fill his diaper with diarrhea sometime around 6:00 PM on Sunday. This continued throughout the night, with either Steve or I having to get up and change the sheets in his crib every two or three hours. Naturally, I totally forgot that losing liquids on this sort of scale would dehydrate him, so by the morning his fontanelle was depressed and I freaked out, sure I’d damaged him beyond repair. Steve agreed to stay home and help me get him to the doctor, who told us that it was "just" a gastrointestinal virus (he probably picked it up from me, and I probably picked it up at last Wednesday’s playdate), so buy Pedialyte, go home and start feeding him rice cereal deliberately, to bind him back up. (Tonight’s probably not going to be any sort of fun time either, apparently, since Dr Gora expects Cal to have this for at least two more days: Oh joy. Certainly puts paid to any hope of A) seeing Dr Who with Peter and Alma tomorrow or B) celebrating our anniversary on its actual day).
Now they’re both asleep, and I’m sitting here wondering if there’s something particularly pathetic about being 37 years old and (yet again) temporarily broke. It’s my birthday, people are sending me emails wishing me presents and cake, and yesterday I had to put a loaf of bread back at Dominion because it put me one dollar over what I had in my pocket. And I have a child to take care of, for Christ’s sake. A SICK child.
Oh well. Tomorrow the parental leave benefits come, and July I go back to work—not a fucking minute too soon, really. And there is food in the house, and we do have a place to live. But man, talk about feeling like an idiot…not the least so because I just figured out that Ad Astra is this coming weekend, and I don’t actually think I can make it without it becoming even more of an insane pain in the ass than it usually is.
Okay, anyways. Think I’ll at least try and hammer out a few more section of BFTA, while there’s no one shrieking for attention. Thanks for "listening".;)
My son cannot pee/
Because he’s dehydrated/
Ha ha, and hee hee.
Yeah, that’s about the size of it. After crawling like a fiend for most of the day, Cal began to scream, vomit and fill his diaper with diarrhea sometime around 6:00 PM on Sunday. This continued throughout the night, with either Steve or I having to get up and change the sheets in his crib every two or three hours. Naturally, I totally forgot that losing liquids on this sort of scale would dehydrate him, so by the morning his fontanelle was depressed and I freaked out, sure I’d damaged him beyond repair. Steve agreed to stay home and help me get him to the doctor, who told us that it was "just" a gastrointestinal virus (he probably picked it up from me, and I probably picked it up at last Wednesday’s playdate), so buy Pedialyte, go home and start feeding him rice cereal deliberately, to bind him back up. (Tonight’s probably not going to be any sort of fun time either, apparently, since Dr Gora expects Cal to have this for at least two more days: Oh joy. Certainly puts paid to any hope of A) seeing Dr Who with Peter and Alma tomorrow or B) celebrating our anniversary on its actual day).
Now they’re both asleep, and I’m sitting here wondering if there’s something particularly pathetic about being 37 years old and (yet again) temporarily broke. It’s my birthday, people are sending me emails wishing me presents and cake, and yesterday I had to put a loaf of bread back at Dominion because it put me one dollar over what I had in my pocket. And I have a child to take care of, for Christ’s sake. A SICK child.
Oh well. Tomorrow the parental leave benefits come, and July I go back to work—not a fucking minute too soon, really. And there is food in the house, and we do have a place to live. But man, talk about feeling like an idiot…not the least so because I just figured out that Ad Astra is this coming weekend, and I don’t actually think I can make it without it becoming even more of an insane pain in the ass than it usually is.
Okay, anyways. Think I’ll at least try and hammer out a few more section of BFTA, while there’s no one shrieking for attention. Thanks for "listening".;)
