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Did this week really happen?

Sunday evening, I left home to fly to Canada for work.

Monday, I was in meetings in Toronto all day.  One of my colleagues mentioned that she was nauseous that day, and later that night she got the pukes (for lack of a more delicate phrase).

Tuesday, I flew back to Boston.  On the plane, I felt a little weird but dismissed it as just travel weariness.  In the cab from the airport to my apartment, I felt like I was about to get the pukes.  Within an hour and a half, I was sick at home, and my husband sent me a text letting me know he was coming home early from work (which he never does).

I had visions of the two of us incapacitated by the pukes, taking turns barfing while Bug and Squish run around with rolls of toilet paper, watching hours of a certain television show about a train and a little family of pteranodons, eating nothing but 4-ounce containers of yogurt and leaving the yogurt containers wherever they pleased.  So I called my mom.

She was at our apartment within four hours, and she stayed until the next morning to help us with everything.  It was such a help - such a comforting help.

Wednesday, my husband and I worked from home.  Each of us plugged into laptops while we lay on the couch.  A good recovery day.

Then night fell.

I went to bed around 9:30.  A couple of hours later, I woke up to Bug crying and complaining about his legs hurting.  This complaint happens every now and then.  He has terrible growing pains, and I feel for him.  After I grabbed an ice pack for him, he seemed able to fall asleep again.

Until an hour or two later, when he woke up crying again.  This time, he could not be soothed.  He insisted that he was unable to sleep anywhere.  Not in his bed.  Not in my bed.  Finally, he said he needed to sleep on the couch.  So, I picked him up and off we went to the couch - blanket, pillows, and ice pack in tow.  We were both able to fall asleep there for a little while.

Soon enough though, he was awake again.  Same complaint.  Same inability to sleep.  Until exhaustion seemed to take hold of both of us, and we were asleep again.

Until Squish woke up crying.  Squish happens to be going through a bit of a MommyPhase, so my husband's attempts to comfort Squish were less effective than usual.  I got up from the couch, went to Squish, and found him in full rejection mode.

"No.  Why would you give me that?!?  I now officially hate pacifiers.  Isn't that obvious?!?  Why didn't you know that?!?"

Rocking in Daddy's arms?
"No!!!  Why would you try that?!?  I don't know this Daddy of whom you speak.  Where is MOMMA?!?"


Squish was a squish in my arms, quiet and calm.  I rocked him in the rocking chair for a little while, and when he seemed to have fallen back asleep, I tried to put him back in his crib.

"No!!!!!!!  Is a crib warm and snuggly?  Does a crib have a heartbeat that reminds me of the good old days when I was womb-side in 2011? Is a crib a momma?  No. No. And, most certainly, no.  No!!!!!"

Exhausted, I brought Squish to my own bed.  Bug and my husband were already there.  Squish slept in my arms and across my chest for "the rest of the night."  A phrase I use loosely given the fact that, at this point, it was around 3 in the morning.

At 5 am, Squish was up.  He was climbing over me, over Bug, over the pillows.  He wanted to see out the window.  He wanted to read the books by the side of the bed.  He wanted to hang out.  He wanted to party.

My husband got up with that little monkey, and so began our Thursday.

Around 6, Bug may have asked me for some water, and I may have told him to get up and ask his daddy for water.

My husband had to go to work a little after 6, but I just couldn't face the munchkins.  So I stayed in bed.

Until around 6:30 when I heard Bug say (presumably to Squish), "I want some yogurt."  Then I heard the refrigerator door open.  I went to the kitchen and saw that Bug had retrieved two yogurts from the fridge - one for him and one for Squish.  Bug then got a spoon out of the drawer, said good morning to me, and walked out to have his yogurt on the floor of the dining room.

Precocious doesn't even begin to describe it.

By 8 am, I was reading Bug and Squish a story in Bug's Pre-K classroom before I left them for the day.  I looked up at Squish, who was standing on the kid-sized chair and facing backward, and I asked him to sit down.  After I started reading again, Squish tumbled over the back of the chair and flipped over on his way to the floor.

One of the teachers brought us some ice and was standing with me while I held and tried to comfort Squish.  She was saying, "It's okay, Mom.  These things really do happen all the time, and the kids are so flexible and squishy  - they're fine.  He will be okay.  Do not worry."  It seemed all it took was the acknowledgement of my fear to bring it right up to the surface.  I wanted to start crying right along with Squish.  Instead, I blinked it back, soothed Squish, said goodbye to both of my goobers, and went to work for the day.  Exhausted.  Completely exhausted.  And wondering how many of us come to work to "start" our days having already lived through hundreds of little dramas at home and on the way to the office.  And, honestly, wondering how on Earth I am supposed to "lean in" when all I really want to do is lie down.

In any event, yesterday went quickly enough, and all four of us slept through the night.

Today is Friday.  It has been snowing since yesterday afternoon, and we may end up with over a foot of snow before the storm finally ends.  On the way to daycare/preschool this morning, we turned a corner, the car lost its grip, and we slid a little to the side.

Bug said, "We almost just drove into the sidewalk, Momma!  We were driving on the sidewalk!"

Indeed, Bug.  In freaking deed.  Let's call it a week, people, and get to Movie Night already.

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