This week has been one of those shall we say "trying weeks". Out of the blue, Caleb threw up a bottle. I don't mean he threw it up, I mean it was like a cannon coming out of his mouth. He had no other symptoms, wasn't acting bad, wasn't overly cranky but just could not keep his bottle down. I was instructed to give him Pedialyte every 10 minutes for 4 hours. If he kept that down, then increase the dosage until I got to 8 hours. If he kept that down, then go back to the bottle. Well . . . we always made it to the 8 hour mark and as soon as I gave him a bottle, right back out it would come. That baby only had 3 bottles in 3 days and he threw those up.
So as if Mommy wasn't a walking zombie already, Wednesday Kanin throws up. Same thing--no other symptoms. Then, at midnight that night, Gracie throws up. Gracie continued to throw up every hour for about 6 hours. All over her bed, pillows, floor, herself, etc. etc. I am talking puke city around my house.
In the midst of all of the puking, I remember having the distinct thought that it didn't even really bother me (that much) that Caleb had thrown up on me and that it was running down my leg. I always heard people say things like "When it's your own child those things don't really gross you out" and surprisingly, it didn't. I was more concerned with why they were all sick and what I could do to make sure they stay dehydrated than by the fact that I had baby slobber, goo, formula and just plain 'ole chunks running down my leg.
Crazy how motherhood can change you.