My life is just one big carnival!

So I was just zipping along blogging and feeling all good about myself. I felt like a Blogger with a capital B again. I felt like my old self. I've been feeling like my old self a lot lately. I like that feeling. I've missed me. Then *BAM* I got waylaid by a sick baby.

Poor Sweet Pea got a cold. It was just a normal cold. No cause for alarm, but it did include lots of whining and the annual attempt all my children make: to create her own weight in snot. Only she upped the ante by trying to see exactly how much snot she would wipe on my couch. Big fun around here I'm telling you.

On Friday things were looking up. Having achieved her goals in snot creation her production was drastically down and the smiles quotient was rising. We were over the hump. And despite the fact that Meaty and I appeared to be coming down with her cold and I was also teetering on the edge of a migraine life was looking good.

Then she woke up Saturday crying.

Now Saturday was already destined to be a hard day. It is just one of those things that happens. All life's bad parts converge in a horrible mess. Due to work schedules I hadn't really seen The Greatest since Wednesday. I missed him and was feeling like a tired single Mom coming down with Sweet Pea's cold. The Greatest was pulling a 24 hour shift so I still wasn't going to see him until Saturday night. It was payday weekend which meant we had minimal groceries in the house, but until The Greatest returned with our only mode of transportation we were just going to have to survive the day on cheese, cold cereal, and carrot cake. Because I was tired and gave the children carrot cake for dinner on Friday night I accidentally pushed myself over the edge of the migraine into full blown migraine. Poor nutrition can push me over the edge, and sugary cream cheese frosting was not a good call. That was my own fault, just sheer stupidity on my part. I deserved this migraine. Then Meaty was extra whiny and snotty with Sweet Pea's cold. Good times I'm telling you. Behold the glory of motherhood!

And Sweet Pea cried.

And she cried.

And she cried.

This was different than she had been all week. She didn't cuddle. She didn't sleep. She didn't want to be held, but for the love of all that's good don't put her down. Sometime around noon I decided that I was going to take her to urgent care as soon as The Greatest came home.

And she cried.

And she cried.

And she cried.

Sometime around three I contemplated walking fifteen miles to Urgent Care.

And she cried.

And she cried.

And she cried.

Sometime around six I decided to simply run away, find a dark corner by a cactus in the desert and sleep.

And she cried.

And she cried.

And she cried a bit more.

The Greatest picked up an extra hour on his shift and didn't come home until almost eight o'clock. The poor man was dead on his feet. He was so tired. I don't know who was in worse shape, poor tired police officer, or poor sick migraine wife with crying baby. But being the good man he is he wasn't about to send his sick wife and sick baby out in the dark to the less than stellar part of town where the urgent care clinic was. He changed his clothes and all six of us departed in search of a doctor.

As I feared, it was so late the urgent care clinic was closed. But I had looked up an all night pediatrics clinic and map quested it. Only I didn't have the precise address with me, just a general idea of where it was from the map. Hey, I knew the city block, just not which side of the street. This had ugly written all over it.

The Greatest asked me repeatedly what the name was. I told him what I thought it was, but since my memory is the consistency of swiss cheese he did not believe that was the actual name, so he kept asking me hoping for a different answer. He ask me half a dozen times if I had the address, and it took all my will power not to snap at him that for the love of all that's good I did not have the address and if he asked me again I was going to smack him. I knew we were both sick, tired, and on edge. And did I mention that the entire time we were endlessly driving around Sweet Pea was crying. She did not fall asleep in the dark car like she usually would, she was crying.

We finally spied a dark parking lot with one lit corner packed with cars. It was indeed the pediatrics clinic, and oh yeah, the name was the one I had been saying all along. The clinic was PACKED. And wouldn't you know it. We walked in, and it was just busy and new and interesting enough to distract Sweet Pea, and she stopped crying. The entire time we waited she crawled around. She played. She giggled. She rarely cried, and always stopped crying the second I picked her up.

I wanted to leave her there.

And I might have if the front desk hadn't taken my drivers license when I checked in. If I had left her there they would have found me quite easily. It hardly seemed worth the effort.

I explained to the triage nurse how awful Sweet Pea had been that day. All the while Sweet Pea was sitting on the scale being charming. She giggled. She tried to pull her jammie shirt up and play peek-a-boo. She was endearing. The triage nurse looked at me like I was wasting her time. The baby sitting on the scale in embarrassingly dirty jammies (from crawling on the waiting room floor) was the opposite of sick. She was the picture of sweet healthy chubby babyhood. (and possibly the poster child for neglect in the now filthy jammies)

I again contemplated just leaving Sweet Pea there.

We were taken to an exam room. And once we were alone Sweet Pea resumed crying. Without any witnesses she began to once again torment me. I was so tired from walking and rocking her all day. I picked her up. I walked the room. I closed my eyes because my head hurt so much. I cried too. When the Dr entered we must have looked quite the site, crying baby, crying Mamma. At least she took me seriously. We discovered Sweet Pea has an ear infection. I was so relieved that something was actually wrong, and it was something we could fix I burst into tears anew. I was really tired. The Dr asked me if Sweet Pea had any allergies. Nope, lets drug this kid up.

The Dr returned with a script for amoxicillin and once again inquired about allergies. I told her that Sweet Pea doesn't have any, but Meaty is allergic to penicillin. Her eyes glazed over the way Dr's eyes tend to do when a patient is saying something they find unimportant. So I pressed on "He gets serum sickness!" I saw her eyes widen. She paused. "So he's actually allergic to it" she responded. That's what I'm telling you lady! He's A-L-L-E-R-G-I-C! It will K-I-L-L H-I-M. She looked at the script in her hand and seemed to be thinking. She gave it to me with the admonition to watch Sweet Pea for any sign of hives. NO KIDDING!

I found The Greatest asleep in a hard plastic chair in the waiting room while the other three children were watching noggin. Poor family. We left and went in search of an open pharmacy. There was nary a one to be found, and we were so tired. We gave up.

Home we went. It was eleven. Poor The Greatest. He had to get up at four a.m. this morning to return to work. I will not see him until nine tonight. Which leaves me at home with no car, minimal groceries, a baby with an ear infection and an unfilled prescription for potential poison. (We've lectured Meaty not to touch Sweet Pea's medicine, not to smell it, taste it, or even look at it. I made him practice saying "I can not take penicillin or cephalosporins or I will die." It's cute to hear him say cephalosporins) Good times people! Good times.

And through all this, Shiloh, I finished a sock.

Don't be hating my mad skillz!

(In the interest of full disclosure I must add I finished it Friday before the baby broke)

(and I might have stitched the design on upside-down)

(and my inner teenage geek girl is totally showing)

(but I love it anyways)