So last week was a big fat barrel of laughs around the ole Mayer house.
The excitement started on Tuesday, when Ellie tagged along to Hadley’s 3-week doctor appointment because I thought she had pink eye.
I’d never seen pink eye, but my first clue that she might have pink eye was that her eye was pink.
When the doctor told me she did in fact have pink eye at first I was happy because I had successfully diagnosed a major medical condition.
But then I found out I was going to have to give her eye drops four times a day. Which I immediately knew would first involve bribery, then tearful pleading, and ultimately sitting on her chest, knocking her unconscious with a turkey leg and keeping her that way by strapping Lila’s poopy diaper over her nose until I could administer said medicine.
The next morning – as I should have anticipated – the pink eye had worked its way down the food chain.
Which, despite starting some eye drops right away, progressed to this –
Then this –
And finally, this –
Maybe the kids will get that dog they’ve always wanted after all.
In addition to the pink eye, they both had a nice little virus complete with runny nose, cough and fever. So for the next few days my challenge became keeping the newborn away from the germ vectors. Which sounds really easy and fun, but in practice is impossible. They are like little heat seeking missiles. So I just decided to give up and get it over with and let the girls spit in Hadley’s mouth.
But after three days and still no virus, Hadley decided to get in on the action by pooping her guts out for a couple of days. When I innocently called the physician exchange on Friday night to find out how much Pedialyte I should give her they instructed me to immediately rush her to the ER to get checked out.
Which is pretty much the opposite of what I wanted to do right then. Wheel of Fortune was about to start so Nick volunteered to take her.
Fortunately she was fine but the doctor noticed she had something called thrush. I thought her white tongue was just a side effect of the marshmallows I’d been feeding her but no – thrush is fungus. In her mouth.
Now, she is my baby and I am required by law to love her unconditionally. But I don’t know if I can love something with mouth fungus. We are not that kind of a house. Mayers don’t get mouth fungus.
The holiday week was topped off on Saturday night when I made the executive decision that, despite pink eye, fevers, mouth fungus and a crying fit/temper tantrum because my nice pair of pants was screaming for mercy as they threatened to split from the post-baby flab stuffed in them, we were going to church.
Unfortunately everyone in the metro area also had the same idea – to come to our church – and by the time we got there it was standing room only. Which I did for about five minutes before I decided that this was bullshit and Jesus wouldn’t have wanted it this way, stomped out and found Nick as he was dropping the girls off in the nursery, told him we were leaving, and then made a Christmas Eve family trip to the grocery store in our church clothes to buy poultry seasoning and maxi pads.
From our family to yours, happy holidays.