Not Fun

Some days are just doomed. Thursday was one of them.

I go to pick up DemonChild from grandma’s. He is taking a nap, and does not take kindly to being woken from it. On the drive to Squeeker’s daycare, DemonChild makes sure I am well aware of his displeasure. Once there, I get the screaming one out of the car and carry him in. Screaming and crying continues, unabated. As I finish putting an unhappy Squeeker (note from his daycare provider: “coughed all day”) into the car seat, I notice that DemonChild is only wearing one shoe. Well, at least now I know one of the reasons for screaming. So, holding DemonChild, car seat, and diaper bag, I make my way to the car. DemonChild is not happy and does not care who gets to hear about it. Fortunately, the missing shoe is found in the footwell; unfortunately, putting it on just gives DemonChild another reason to scream.

Once Squeeker and diaper bag are safely out of the drizzling rain, I get the bright idea to call our pediatrician’s office and schedule an appointment for the boys, since all that coughing can’t be a good thing (that, and I am not sure how much longer I can last on less than six hours of sleep per night, seeing as my children are telepathic and start waking up with disturbing regularity once I go to bed, regardless of what time that actually happens; a sure-fire way for both of them to sleep through the night requires me to pull an all-nighter, and while my spirit is willing, my body hates me for that). To my surprise, the pediatrician’s office is still open. Can I make it there by 6 pm? Sure I can.

It’s a 10-15 minutes drive from the daycare. DemonChild finally decides to give crying a break. Squeeker, not to be outdone, seizes the opportunity to make himself heard. I call BelovedSpouse, catch him at home starting to make dinner, and stupidly tell him that I should be able to handle both kids on my own. We drive on, with Squeektar and DemonChild taking turns expressing their displeasure with the world in general. I am starting to think that New Year resolutions 1 & 2, “be a better wife and mother,” can be effectively accomplished by driving off a cliff, or barring that, getting a divorce and waving visitation rights.

[continued a couple of days later]

We make it to the pediatrician’s office by 6:05. Both kids are whiny and unhappy. I am trying to remember where the nearest cliff is. Fortunately for all concerned, we are the only people in the waiting area, and the nurse takes us in almost immediately. Temperatures are taken (Squeeker gets to experience the joys of having a thermometer shoved up his butt for the first time in his life). Weights are recorded. Roughly, Squeek is at 13 lbs 5 oz (6 kg 40 g), and DemonChild at 23 lbs 14 oz (10 kg 800 g). The doctor comes in and diagnoses both little guys with RSV, with a bonus double ear infection for DemonChild. He also gets the dubious joy of having to inhale medication for 10 minutes, which are spent on my lap, screaming, while the nice nurse holds the smoking air mask near his unhappy face, and the nice doctor entertains Squeeker. The medicine is working, since DemonChild is able to scream for 10 minutes without coughing once. We leave with triaminicine for congestion, an inhaler for DemonChild, and a prescription for amoxycillin.

I get home at 7:30, leave the kids with BelovedSpouse, drive to Walgreens to get the amoxycillin, come back an hour later, help put DemonChild to bed, shove the boob in Squeeker’s face until he falls asleep out of sheer desperation. By then it is 10:30, and I have decided that in the absence of conveniently located cliffs I will just have to build my own. Tomorrow, when I can keep my eyes open.

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