Mommy needs a timeout

I need a timeout.

Evie is really sick. She had stayed home all week last week, as she was ill with a fever and a bad cough after returning from the trip to Texas. On Wednesday, Bryan took her to the pediatrician (he is off Wednesdays-Fridays) to make sure her cough was nothing more than a bad virus. They determined she had croup. By Friday, her fever and cough were far worse so he called me at work right at 3:15 to tell me he was taking her to get xrays. I left work and we met at the office; they had found a small spot in her lungs so they were putting her back on antibiotics.

The weekend was filled with crankiness, tears and very little eating. By Sunday, I was back on the phone with the on-call doc who told me my choices were to basically get enough fluids in her to get her to make a wet diaper, or she would have to go to the ER. So, I spent most of Sunday afternoon and evening trying to cajole her to drink, eat or suck on anything I could find: popcicles, jello, juice, washrags. Bryan was at work until nearly 11pm, so it was just me trying to get her to take something. When he got home? She happily ate some Jello.
We made it through the night, but just barely.

This morning, She still had consumed very little liquid and was generally cranky, so I called the pediatrician and made an appointment for 10am. The doctor listened to her lungs, looked in her ears, her eyes etc. After a thorough check-up, she determined Evie needed xrays again. Oh, and also, her ear is now infected, again....the antibiotic the other doctor put her on last week is too weak.

And so I took her back to the radiology department. However, today, they didn't just want one xray, they wanted a whole series of them. The technician met us out in the waiting room and explained to me that she was going to need to take a series of pictures which would require Evie be completely still. Yeah.

Evie's response? She crossed her arms and GLARED silently at the technician. I scooped her up, which caused crying. I then suited up in a lead bib and held her to try to calm her. When it was determined she was not going to calm down, we just began to arduous process wherein I had to help hold her in position, and hug her in between "shots." There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth during the session, however according to the technicians, she was doing very well comparatively.

When we were done, we left and headed home. Once we arrived home, she demanded a french fry, but I had none. So, being cranky, tired and sick, she decided the best way to handle her frustration was by throwing a fit. Not just a little crying, but a complete and total sitting in the in the driveway in the rain, kicking her legs and screaming at the top of her lungs so the neighbors would thing she was being abducted, kind of fit. It was completely wonderful.

I scooped her up and brought her inside as she arched her back, kicked and continued her protest up the stairs and in to her room. I put her on her bed, when suddenly her crying stopped and she said "boots off please, Mommy." I took her boots off and then she said "coat off too, Mommy."

It was at this point, I had to keep from laughing.

I took her coat off, put her blanket on her, and she then began to cry again, declaring she didn't want to go "nye night!"

I walked out of the room. She was silent in less than a minute.

20 minutes passed, and I heard her moving around, talking. I got up and when I got to the base of the stairs, she met me at the top, completely naked but her socks.

"I pooped, Mommy!"

I quickly went upstairs to find she had, in fact pooped. On the bed. She had removed the clean diaper, and then, ever so carefully, done her business right there on the little mattress on the floor (the one we are using as a 'just in case' mattress for rolling out of her bed.)

Apparently she could not get out of the room fast enough to seek assistance.

"I cweened it up, Mommy; is ok."

Yes, she had tried to clean it, again, with the majority of the wipes in the container. But no, it was not yet cleaned up.

And so, I cleaned up the mess, and my child, and then we washed our hands thoroughly.

Of course a nap was out of the question by this point, so I brought her back downstairs with me and we snuggled on the couch for a while and watched a Disney movie.

Things had calmed down for the most part until this evening, when she went into the kitchen. Now usually, her going into the kitchen is not a big deal. She will go in, I will call her and she will come back, no harm done. The drawers and cupboards have latches, the only thing she can really get into is the tupperware......or so I thought.

So she ran into the kitchen, and I said "Evie, what are you doing?"

Her response was "is ok Mommy, I be wight back!"

I head the scooting of the little step stool and a commotion. My friend Anna was here, dropping off papers my kids had done @ school today. I made a joke about what could Evie possibly be doing, and I slowly made my way to the kitchen, not yet alarmed (STUPID WOMAN THAT I AM.)

I found Evie, standing on the stool, Children's Motin in her hand; it was open.

She was smiling, brightly. "I dwink my medicine, Mommy!"

It was at this point I said a very, very bad word.

She just smiled at me. I grabbed the bottle, panicked. How did she open it? How did she get it? What the hell is the number for poison control?!?!

Anna came running in, I got the phone book out, cursing my husband for taking the emergency numbers paper off the fridge because it "didn't look nice on the new fridge."

Anna found the number while I cleaned Evie up and closed the bottle.

I called them "Thank you for calling poison control, if you are a medical professional, please press 1, if you are calling about an animal, please press 2, if you are calling about identifying a pill, please press 3. If you have any other questions, please press 4."

Pressing 4: "Oh for the LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY!"

Poison Control: "Hello, thank you for calling poison control, how can I help you?"

Me: "Um, Hi, my daughter just drank some Children's Motrin."

Poison Control: "Oh, I need to transfer you, hang on please."

Me: Breathe, just breathe. She is happy, she is bouncing around, she didn't drink the whole bottle, she's fine. (Why the hell was the bottle on the counter, you idiot..you knew this was going to happen one day.....)

Poison Control: "Thank you for calling poison control, how can I help you?"

Me: "Hi, my daughter just drank Children's Motrin."

Poison Control: "Ok, don't panic."

And thus began the detemination that she had not consumed a toxic dose, but that she would need to drink some milk to coat her stomach and she may puke.

I then spent the next hour trying to get Evie to drink a glass of milk, but of course, this was the day of being contrary and generally horrible, so she refused. I resorted to a syringe and chocolate milk, because that was very exciting; it was that or holding her and pouring it down her throat...not the most stellar of ideas with an already pissy toddler.

Bryan got home, and she immediately asked him for a glass of water. I had not been able to get her to drink or eat anything. I hadn't pushed the issue, in fact I had opted to ignoring her, thinking perhaps it was a power struggle. If she asked, I would give, but every time I offered drink or food, she absolutely refused. Bryan walked in, and she happily accepted.

He then commented that he "couldn't understand why she does so well for him and yet she gives you such a hard time."

He followed this helpful observation up with "so other than the poopy accident, the xrays this morning, and the poison control thing, how come you had such a bad day?"

Like I said. I need a time out. In fact, I am taking a "quiet moment" right now to type this blog post, because people, if I wasn't typing this blog post? If I wasn't sitting quietly by myself, free from my Motrin-chugging, food-refusing, screaming toddler and my husband who makes "observations," I may just lose my ever-loving mind.