Harper woke up Thursday at three in the morning, not feeling well with a hot mess of a diaper & and immediate diaper rash. She was upset & crying, so we let her sleep in our bed for the rest of the night. We normally say three’s a crowd, but it doesn’t count if you have glow-in-the-dark Halloween pajamas & aren’t feeling well. She looked mighty cute sweating sleeping between us. Things went downhill as the sun came up, she was tossing, turning, poking, kicking & at one point, I think she was sleeping with both legs under my pillow.

She seemed okay in the morning, a little groggy & quiet but showing no signs of being really sick. We brought her downstairs, sat her on the kitchen counter wrapped up in her blanket while we cooked breakfast. Before I could even flip my first pancake, Harper started throwing up everywhere. Brandon was literally wearing a suit, about to walk out the door to catch a flight for work. In other words, useless. Ok I really did feel bad for him knowing he had to leave Harper like that, but I maybe felt worse for myself. And double worse for her.

After a bath, it was a long day of sweaty couch snuggles & a trip to the doctor (you know, first time mom panic style). They told us it was just a stomach bug, she wasn’t running a fever or getting dehydrated. We stopped for some Pedialyte & Probiotics on the way home, then spent rest of the evening on the couch. 

Fast forward to today. Harper slept through the night & woke up with a smile on her face. WHEW. Just a 24 hour bug maybe? Winning.

She started getting fussy, crying for her milk, so I gave her a small sippy of it & we went to lay on the couch. Let me just preface this next part by saying that nobody told me that you aren’t supposed to give your kid fucking dairy when they aren’t feeling well.

Twenty minutes into Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Harper sweetly snuggled on top of me, calm as can be, looks up at me & smiles.

THEN PROJECTILE VOMITS HER PARTIALLY DIGESTED MILK IN MY FACE.
 In my mouth. In my hair. In my EYES. I thought I went blind.

The smell. The taste. Oh dear God. The two of us are both crying at this point, I scoop her up, holding my sweatshirt out for her to throw up into to avoid more of a mess later as we run to the kitchen. She continues to throw up in my shirt & on the kitchen floor, crying & pointing at my face saying “oh no. no no.” Good thing I was wearing my “in the case of a zombie apocalypse, I hope I am wearing this” outfit. I strip all of our clothes off, which just leads to her screaming, crying more because her pukey pajama shirt just got dragged across her face (sorry, kid!) & we make our way upstairs to the shower.

Mind you, Harper hates getting water in her face, so she was not at all impressed with the situation. I shampoo both of our hair, gagging as I watch the cottage cheese looking vomit swirling around the drain. As I’m just about to call it clean, Harper clings to my leg (still crying) & shits all over our feet.

You win, stomach bug. You win.

I will spare you the horror by not sharing the pictures of the crime scene that I sent to Brandon & my mom this morning. My mom proceeds to tell me that I did the exact same thing to her when I was around Harper’s age. Karma totally had it out for me.

Harper is sleeping now, I am praying that her her toast & water stay down. I am desperate for her to feel better, a sick baby might be the most heartbreaking thing ever.

This is real life. And I think I need a sick day.