Ucky Blucky

The weekend that wasn't . . .

The kids had Maddie over on Friday night to make a butterfly cake. Saturday morning I went with Soren to his game, he scored several goals. Daddy went with Annaslugger to her game. We met at home and did some housekeeping. In the afternoon, Daddy took the kids to the neighbors' house to swim and I took a nap to prepare for work. I left for work, totally unsuspecting. It was the night from Hell. I did 6 deliveries, our birth center was so busy that we had to turn away patients. We had patients laboring in the hall, in the chairs, etc. We had patients laboring in rooms but no nurses to take care of them. I have no idea what was going on, but it was nuts. I delivered the baby of a 17-year old patient having her 3rd baby (first at 12-years old), her mother made me so mad -- but I don't want to go into it. It was a nutty night, peanutty. I didn't urinate once the entire night, too busy. At around 4 a.m. I walked past my office, couldn't go in but walked past it, thought I heard the phone ringing but couldn't answer it because the 17-year old was about to birth and I needed to waddle at top speeds to her room. Turns out, the phone wasn't ringing, but a mother knows . . .

At 4 a.m. my little Soren, the Great Brazilian Defender, walked into our bedroom to Lars' side of the bed with his hands full of vomit. Poor Soren. Poor Lars. Until Petra was well into toddler hood, Lars couldn't even handle hearing the word 'poop' without dry heaving. These days, the man is a pro at wiping emesis off of little mouths without so much as a shiver. Still, I feel horrible that I wasn't there for the two of them. I feel especially terrible that when I finally arrived home at 8:30 a.m. I had to go straight to bed. I couldn't function. I was a bit emotional myself from having been so physically taxed throughout the night, I couldn't bend my legs at the knees because of the extent of swelling I had incurred, and the lack of sleep was making me feel out of my mind. Soren has not stopped vomiting. He can't keep anything down. He did bravely try to sit through Petra's soccer game at 2pm (his idea) but couldn't manage so I took him home, but not before he threw-up in the car. Ugh. He's had some sips of a juice box in the past few minutes, nothing yucky yet.

The dilemma of the week . . .

Our next problem is this, as you all know by now I am employed outside the home. In fact, I am very well employed. A little too well employed for my own tastes. As I sit here blogging to you I am sipping a Pomegranate Izze, a sparkling beverage that is quite pricey but we can buy these sorts of things because I bring home the majority of the bacon. In the past, when the meconium has hit the fan, Lars typically takes the day off of work because it is logistically much more difficult for me to take the day off. If I don't go into work, my patients don't get seen, or my colleagues get screwed. Added to this problem is that I was hired in to my current position without benefits in exchange for greater pay. If I don't go to work, I don't get paid. I have no sick leave, no paid time off, no paid vacation. My husband has all these things. The developing problem is that my husband is planning a day off on Tuesday to manage some family affairs. He feels nervous about taking tomorrow off, as well. Additionally, my husband is curing cancer. He's really into his job. He wants the world to be cancer free and feels connected to what he's doing. Now some of you may have very firm ideas about how this should be handled, but it's not that straight forward. Yes, I am the mother. Yes, my son needs me. Yes, I am the family's primary bread winner at this time and losing a day of pay is very scary to us. Yes, Lars and I co-parent and are both equally capable of administering to a sick child with love and kindness. We both have so many roles, each so vital to our family's livlihood. It's not so cut and dry, you see. Plus, I'm about to take an unpaid maternity leave (which I've diligently saved for). My husband gets 6-weeks of paternity leave at full-pay. In the meantime, we have a pukey, dehydrated Kung Fu Master (tomorrow is karate for Soren) moaning and groaning on our couch.

I hate this. I hate that the plan for tomorrow is not obvious. If we lived in Michigan, my recently retired mother would no doubt come in her Subaru station wagon and sit with Soren. Or Soren's Bubba would come and hang out with him, as he has done for us in the past. Even Mommela has jumped in for us to tend to a sick young 'un of ours, despite having her own child that she could spread infectious diseases to. No dice out here. Sometimes, I wonder about the choices my mom and step-mom had to make as they were parenting without partners, both working full-time. I know us kids got sick. I think that was around the time my mom got cable, that way I could stay home alone and have the TV. I was 9-years old then, Soren is only 5. Different times, different deal.

Soren is too sick today to go to school tomorrow. Lars and I both need to be at work. Stay tuned . . .