Last night, Matt left for a 5 day trip to Chicago/Peoria. I will not see him from 7am on Friday until 11pm on Tuesday. As I talk to him before heading to bed, I start to say something, but then quickly catch myself, and instead say, "not going to say it". Well, I said it anyway, "watch, someone is going to get sick." And my first 24 hours proceeds as follows:
Round 1: Lost.
Curtis goes down at 8pm on the dot. Like always, my wonderful little boy. Brock, of course is a bit of a struggle, but it in bed by 9pm. George on the other hand is not quite ready for bed, and takes my attention until about 11pm. Finally, we are all settled. Brock then wakes up at 1:51am. He flips out because I make him go back to bed. He is sobbing, which nearly always leads to vomiting for him, so I take him back out of bed, as I do not feel like cleaning sheets. Sure enough, he throws up a bit. I change him, get him back in bed, all in time for George to wake up at 2:05am. I feed him, get him back to bed by 3am. He wakes up again at 5, instead of his 6:30am norm, and he has decided he will just stay up until almost 6:30am. Next thing I know, I hear Brock, and he is up for the day, at 6:37am. Awesome. I convince him to lay quietly and watch cartoons while I catch a few more Zzz's, only to be awoken at 7:30am by Curtis on the monitor...30 minutes earlier than his usual wake up time!!! At this point, I know all is lost, and it's not even 8am.
Round 2: Tie.
So, I really want a latte. I am convinced I will not make it through the day without it. So, I don't even dress them, and just throw the kids in the van to head to Starbuck's drive-thru and Dunkin' Donuts. All are happy, the big boys are watching "Bolt" and George is snoozin' away. We get our donuts. Curtis happily downs his muffin. Brock, who I question whether or not he is well, throws a fit about everything. Doesn't want anything, decides he is not hungry, and then says he is cold, which is weird and lays on the bed with a blanket to watch TV. So, I kind of won because all is calmish? But kind of lost because Brock still hasn't eaten, and is sick.
Round 3: Lost.
At this point, it's about 10am. I have gotten a text from Curtis' godfather, Gabe, who has offered to come over and help for a bit. I take him up on the offer because I want to bathe the children, and an extra hand tends to be useful in this situation. Boy, was I right. Curtis can't wait to get in the bath. Brock then wants in. Curtis then wants out. George isn't happy. Gabe is trying to calm the baby, meanwhile, Fannie pukes in the living room. Seriously, dogs. Why must they ALWAYS make a chaotic situation worse? Every single time Matt leaves town, the dogs puke or have diarrhea. Maybe I make them anxious.
After this round, I just put everyone to bed. It's not even noon. And the day has me beat.
Honestly, I can't even remember the rest of the day at this point (this was Saturday, it's Monday now.) They have all run together. I think my mother came over and removed the wallpaper in our downstairs bathroom, then helped me with what turned into a 2 hour process of putting Brock to bed. And he then woke up twice. And George woke up 4 times. So, I got 4ish spotty hours of sleep.
Lesson learned: Do not let your husband leave you for 5 days with a two week old, a 16 month old and a 3 year old.
On the bright side, they are REALLY cute.
Oh, and update on how the rest of the week went: both Curtis and Brock currently have low grade fevers. Fannie vomited at least one other time. George needs to be gaining more weight, so I am feeding and pumping more frequently...which means the other 2 are loose to seek and destroy the house. My immediate family will probably need a vacation from my children, as I call on them daily to reprieve me from some of my duties. Otherwise, it's been a blast!
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