The American Flu

Do you remember that episode of Downton Abbey where everyone had the spanish flu and was on the brink of death? Well someone better fetch Dr. Clarkson because that is our family this week.

It started the night we got home from our road trip (awesome timing we hadn't even unpacked yet) and Cooper woke up with vomit caked to his face and then preceeded to projectile hurl his breakfast all over the dining room a few hours later. Seriously I have never seen such a great amount of bodily fluid come out of anyone, let alone a small baby. Cooper's never thrown up before so I just sat in my chair and sobbed while Josh got him in the bathtub and cleaned it all up. I'm really helpful in a crisis.

The next day Josh and I caught it and neither of us could move all day. In order to express how sick we were without all the vomit stories, I will just say that in 24 hours I lost 5 pounds and Josh lost 8. Cooper has now lost 2 pounds since Sunday. 

Whenever kids get sick it's sad, but whenever my kid gets sick, it's problematic. I'm already a whack job about everything to do with Cooper, but when he actually has a real illness, I'm a hundred times worse. I've been crazy worried about his urine output since Sunday. Josh stayed home from church with him and I spent all of primary texting Josh to see if Cooper had peed yet. And when Josh didn't answer (which he never did) I would call and harrass him about the critical importance of urine. I couldn't even concentrate on anything anyone said to me, in my head I was like "urine urine urine." Last night after Josh told me to stop worrying and go to bed I researched home tests for dehydration and then I'd go back out in the living room and pinch Cooper's skin and press on his fingernails until Josh ordered me to stop harrassing Cooper and go to bed. Finally this morning after still no urine, I took advantage of logical Josh being away at work and took him to the emergency room.

We spent all of about ten minutes there, just long enough for the doctor to take one look at him and say he's fine and then confirm that yes indeed, I am super paranoid. 

Also, St. Mark's, I'm sorry for barfing in your bushes.