We Wish You A Vomit-Free Christmas

This morning I was sleeping in while Aaron got up with Cordy. I heard him carry her downstairs, then drifted off to sleep again.

Suddenly I was awake again, hearing “Oh, yuck!” from downstairs, followed by unhappy cries from Cordy. It turns out that she had a blow-out diaper sometime overnight, and Aaron didn’t notice until he got downstairs. We’re talking a big, something’s-not-right-with-the-digestive-system blow-out diaper. It was Poop Fest 2005: there was watery poop up the back, up her chest, down the legs, and eventually on Aaron and on the floor.

The unhappy cries were from Cordy as she was being cleaned with wet wipes. Wet wipes, while mighty and capable of many things besides cleaning baby butt, cannot withstand a mess like this.

After cleaning her up, Aaron wisely disposed of the toxic waste by putting it in a bag and throwing it in the outside trash can, instead of in the diaper genie. Good daddy.

Then they came upstairs, and when I picked her up, my suspicions of a blow-out diaper were confirmed. She was no longer in her sleeper, and she still smelled horrid. I made the executive decision that a bath was in order. When we stripped her down, I could see the redness and the rash extending from her belly button to her knees. Poor thing.

After a happy bath, she was dried off and moisturized to take care of that rash, then dressed in new clothing. But I could still tell something was off. She wasn’t all that interested in food, including when we went out to eat. If my bottomless-pit just picks at her grilled cheese, then I know there’s something wrong.

We went out shopping in the afternoon (what the hell was I thinking?) and after sitting in traffic for far too long, we came home. As I sat down to look at the mail, I noticed the smell again. Damn damn damn.

I stripped Cordy down, and was greeted with oozing tapioca poop. I guess she didn’t want me to feel left out of the Poop Fest. Once again, poop was everywhere. After cleaning her up, cleaning myself up, and cleaning the carpet, I put some toys out for Cordy to play with. She was on clothing change #3 for the day, I was on #2.

She was showing no interest in playing, so I tried a little Wiggles therapy. That worked long enough for me to call her pediatrician and ask if this was some weird reaction to her shots from Wednesday. The nurse on call said it was probably just a bug, and to keep her on clear fluids and away from dairy. I was still not convinced, since her only symptoms were diarrhea and a bad rash.

15 minutes later, Cordelia convinced me by throwing up on me. Damn damn damn. To make it worse, she also wanted to cling to me and only me – daddy wasn’t good enough. So I sat there in wet, vomit-covered pants for a few minutes to calm her down. Of all the times that she only wants me, I wondered why it had to be now?

I got free and changed into outfit #3 and changed her into her sleeper after she vomited a little bit more. She was clearly exhausted. A little Tylenol, and a small bottle later (yes, we went against the nurse’s orders – without a little bottle of milk, this kid won’t sleep) she drifted off to sleep and Aaron placed her in her crib. We’ll hold off on the second bath until tomorrow – I don’t think her red, chapped and rashy bottom can handle any more abuse right now.

As long as she’s not any worse tomorrow, we’ll spare her the visit to the doctor’s. I’m praying that this will pass before tomorrow night. We’re pretty much required to show up at my father’s family gathering – well, Cordelia is required to be there, and I think Aaron and I are optional.

It’s really the worst time to be sick – she has the opportunity to be a plague bearer and infect many, many people over the next three days. Maybe it’ll make people think twice before snatching her from us and kissing her?