No more world traveling.

My hubs doesn't know it yet - but it's official - he can not leave the country. ever. again.  Seriously - every time he leaves something terrible happens.  Usually it's just a horrible week of manic teething with a chance of painful ear infection thrown in for good measure.  Not this time.  Oh no.  We couldn't get off easy and just have to deal with something we're used to.  That would  be too convenient.

I really thought that since Sam would only be gone four days and it didn't appear that pepito was teething and his ears were clear that it would be clear sailing.  Not to mention that he was sleeping through the night like a pro again.  I shouldn't have said anything - pretty sure I jinxed myself.  Because what we ended up with was a huge abcess on pepito's tush.  HUGE.  What started as an innocent tushie bump that was immune to diaper creme became a red painful deep welt literally overnight.  It's awful.  Poor baby.

I got an appointment on Monday afternoon with Trina the Nurse Practitioner.  Love HER.  I would totally marry her.  Love her that much.  But anyway, she lanced, squeezed, laughed at my singing "Do You Love Me" to the screaming babe, slapped a bandaid on his bottom, and we were good to go.  Well good to go to rush over to the Medical Center Lab to give them a sample of the nastiness that was squeezed out of his tush to test for whatever is in there.  Nevermind that I was supposed to be at my in-laws house for dinner and still had to go to the pharmacy to get his antibiotics.  Luckily, my sweet mother-in-law was also running late and offered to pick up little man on her way home so I could go to the Target pharmacy by myself.  Bless them and their 15 minute 'please wander around the most fun store in the world' turn around time.  I heart Target.

I made it a policy to leave his tush alone for awhile, lest I further traumatize him, but when I got him up this morning it was hard and swollen again.  I made another appointment for late morning and he got it lanced, squeezed, etc. all over again.  Everyone in the doctor's office felt so bad for him - probably because everyone in a five mile radius could hear his screams.  Whatcha gonna do?  The NP gave me props though for rolling with the punches and not sobbing which was nice.  Made me feel like a decent mom even though I always feel a little guilty that I never cry when he does.  I guess I've become accustomed to the sound after surviving the first six months of his life....just saying.

So, that last round of torture was supposed to knock it out.  Yep - I said supposed to - because guess what - within two hours - the abcess had refilled and was full again.  Only this time it was their lunch.  I have discovered that I love Rochelle from the answering service and hate her very rude supervisor Donna.  Just putting that out there.  I finally get through to the doctor's office at 2:15pm and get the wonderful news that it's now my turn to squeeze the yuckiness.  Yay.  It's a two person job at minimum.  I begged Hads to come over and help me hold him and I promised we would shut every door in the house and turn the tv on loud so her kid wouldn't be traumatized.  Sweet bestie - she did.  And it surprised both of us how not incredibly terrible it was.  I mean, it wasn't fun and not one of the three of us enjoyed any minute of it, but it went ok.  I know for a fact that I didn't get nearly as much out as the professionals, but maybe it'll help a little bit.  Either way - we're headed back in tomorrow - for the THIRD doctor's appointment in so many days.

But wait - it gets better.  So, we've made it through the day.  Daddy's coming home tomorrow, we've just got one more night.  He eats Risotto with mixed Veggies like it's his job (which it kinda is actually), changes into PJs, swaddled and off we go to watch Glenn Beck and drink the bedtime bottle, just like every other night of his life.  He's sucking it down, no fussiness, this is going to be easy.  He takes his last sip, I set the bottle on the radio cabinet, I'm about to prop him up to burp him and there he blows.  Projectile vomit all over himself, me, splashing off of me and onto the (custom upholstered) ottoman.  Yuck.  Double yuck.  Vomit stinks.

I try calling Hads but her apartment is a black hole for cell phone signals, so then I try my mother-in-law.  She calls me back and says, yeah, what could it hurt to go to pediatric acute care.  So, off we go.  I'm tired of being in the car going to doctors.  And so is William.  Though, he was in a surprisingly good mood for just depositing his entire dinner on my shirt.  The doctor said that there's probably no good reason for him throwing up and not to worry about it.  Give him some pedialyte, make sure he doesn't dehydrate, and tell the pediatrician in the morning.  Yay.  Atleast we had a credit there for some strange reason, so I didn't have to pay for him to tell me basically nothing, though I guess the credit means that we overpaid at some point.  Whatever.  I'm too tired to care.

I seriously can't believe that it's only Tuesday.  All this happened in 48 hours.  How is that even possible?  It feels like it should be Friday already.  Atleast Sam is coming home tomorrow.  If this was a normal trip he would be gone until Saturday and I would be on the phone with his boss begging her to let him come home because I'm about to literally lose my mind.  The funny part was - I was so proud of myself for not letting any of the clingy, screaming, crying baby behavior get to me.  I finally wasn't going crazy.  That was before I got thrown up on.  I'm just so tired of dealing with it.  I'm kind of scared for tomorrow to get here - I can't deal with anything else!

Oh - and did I mention that he has been waking up at 1:36 am every night on the dot?

Loves.