We’ve said goodbye to our beloved Papa, Pope Benedict XVI, we’re on the verge of sequestration and both my boys are sick. Wretchedly sick.
We’ve had vomiting, diarrhea, high fever and coughing fits in the last 48 hours. I have been sleeping at night on the couch. Fever brought down by Motrin and Tylenol just rockets back up the second it wears off. Joey is having crying fits because he is tired but whenever he goes to sleep is shuddered awake by coughing that racks his whole body. No wheezing, thank God.
I feel so helpless to get them better. I am thankful for the chance to care for them in this time, but similarly dejected that I can’t just make it all go away. I’ve cried with them and for them in these last couple of days because with these kinds of symptoms it is most probably a viral infection and there is simply nothing we can do. However, I resolved that if there is any fever whatsoever in the morning, we are going to the pediatrician. There is simply no way we can abide this way much longer. The boys are exhausted. I am exhausted. Jeff is doing his best holding up the fort and making my absence up to Shelby. I work on Saturday for the majority of the day and probably Sunday as well. I need to have the situation in a recovery phase, if at all possible. Jeff is capable, but I hate putting that much on his plate. Even I have only the boys to deal with during the day while Shelby is at school. And Jeff has been racing home at night to ensure that I don’t have to worry about dinner or baths or general bedtime mayhem.
Right now both boys are sleeping peacefully which means I am going to post this then get a few things done before 3 pm and the Chaplet of Divine Mercy and then Hurricane Shelby comes home. (Shelby, btw, loves the upheaval. She is quite the opportunist with getting things out she’s not supposed to have or cutting and coloring things she shouldn’t.)