Sick Day/Night/Weekend.

...And then there are the nights when your youngest child wakes up simply covered from head to toe in vomit. (And you fail to realize this for a goodly ten minutes, seeing as you and your husband- both hanging out on different floors- thought that the other one got her. This, in particular, makes you feel like a special kind of monster.)

When you [finally] see your drenched, shivering, and horrifically smelling one year-old, you are rendered completely immobilized. I mean, you'd still take a bullet in the eye for the kid but, like, someone should really pick her up, right?

So you do. (Every other hour for the next two nights.) And you bathe and scrub and change your freaked-out, chilled, and exhausted baby. And attempt to rock her back to sleep...when she vomits down the front of your shirt. (A lot.) So you and your husband play that game of Pass The Baby Back And Forth Until Every Layer On Us And The Kid Is Puke-Free. (It takes a while.) It gets later and later. And you watch her temperature spike to 103.9 and her eyes go all glassy. (Your husband reports this from the floor where he face-planted at roughly 4am on the second night.)

The next morning your three year-old asks for something to drink and you become irrationally angry at her.

You realize that all three of your writing deadlines have skipped merrily by and there's no way you'll play catch-up before Monday morning. You cry along with the sick baby and the confused pre-schooler. (Your husband doesn't cry, but he's very good at keeping those things in check.)

By now it's Sunday and there's no way your doctor can see her that day- but he's "concerned." So he sends you to a Minute Clinic over at CVS. You bundle your toddler who- come on, really just fell asleep?- and drag her out into the 20 degree afternoon. Your sleepy and magenta-faced baby smiles at you via the rearview mirror and your status as a monster has absolutely been clinched.

You get to the clinic. There's a line around the corner of hacking, sobbing children. You debate getting a bucket of leeches and heading home to take care of this thing yourself. But then your youngest starts moaning and shivering again so you check in at the counter. And find out that they can't see your kid because she's fifteen months old. And they only see eighteen months and up.

The next place will see her. In two hours, they pleasantly inform you. Or, as their doctor suggests, you should really just take her to the ER. Would the [shaking] baby like a cookie while you wait? (You do not wait.)

You weigh your options at this point: taking her to the emergency room (and paying out a fair piece of her college tuition) and potentially waiting for multiple hours with horrifically sick people...or trying one more clinic (for a lesser co-pay and perhaps more immediate attention).

You try one more clinic. They tell you that a) they can see her now and b) they'll accept your insurance. Maybe. Because the server is down and you'll have to pay $110 out pocket and see about reimbursement on Monday. You mentally bang your head against the window and sign anyway. (With one arm. The other is wrangling your now-perky toddler. (Come ON.)

Finally, they say they can see "Savannah." You correct them. They nod and smile. They take her temperature- which has gone down considerably in the past three hours of transit. You're happy for your daughter's brain- maybe the sub-zero temps were good for her system?- but more than a little ticked that this happened after you slid the AmEx across the counter.

She tests negative for the flu. (Twice.) Same for ear infections. Same for pneumonia. The test for strep will be back in 48 hours. Just a virus, most likely! Then her temperature starts spiking again (and you feel validated and immediately hate yourself for it) and they prescribe a strict regiment of dosing the bejesus out of her.

That night, her temp holds steady at a pleasant 102 degrees and she deliriously attempts to walk from your face to your husband's between the hours of midnight and six a.m. (You and your husband calculate that you've gotten an hour and half of sleep between the two of you. Since Friday night.)

The next morning, the baby's fever is slightly lower and you feel reassured that flesh-eating bacteria has not succeeded in eating your kid's brain stem. This lasts until your husband kisses the kiddo goodbye and she spews all over him. (This makes no one happy.)

So you take your baby into her actual doctor where he expresses concern over how sick this child is. He runs some more tests. Lets her play with the stethoscope. (She's such a happy baby, isn't she? ...Usually.) Determines that she has strep throat, which is "extraordinary" for this age. You inform your baby that she's extraordinary. She takes it in stride.

Same with the antibiotics. And the next dose of Motrin. And some juice. And a frightening portion of the foodstuffs in the pantry cabinet.

You determine the rest of the day to be a movie-watching, blanket tent-making day. Where the blanket "tent" is really just a towel thrown across the floor. The baby takes this news well. So does the [largely neglected] three year-old.

Everyone is [kinda] happy.

Except that you've now this persistent little ache in the back of your throat...