Being sick is exhausting. Baby being sick might be more exhausting. She was able to sleep between tiny doses of pedialyte.
Last night, Tim walked into the living room carrying a disgusting mess of formula, barley, sweet potatoes and Gwennan. She looked like an infant who had just emerged from the birth canal wearing a diaper. She was all curled up in Tim's hands (he wasn't holding her too close to his chest) with the biggest grin - we had finally rescued her. Silly girl never cried.
I remember Tim's mom warning me that I would be a nervous wreck the first time my kid was really sick. I handled fevers calmly, so as usual, I assumed I was the one of a kind parent who was born knowing what to do in every situation and could remain clear-headed at all times.
God is trying to break my pride. Between the fall from the bed, the afternoon spent in a locked car and the vomit last night, Gwennan is showing my true parental colors - I'm a mess, like every other new parent.
When Tim and I got engaged, I remember believing that we were going to rock the marriage thing. How hard could it be? I was a good roommate - cleaned up after myself and others, paid my bills on time, generally got along with whomever I lived with. So naive!
I always overestimate my abilities. Maybe it's what allows me to move forward - get married, have a baby, have two babies for that matter. Hmm...
As you might suspect, Gwennan is fine. One shot deal. She's back to lying in her crib, babbling away to Pooh Bear. He's a great listener - something else I'm good at. Well, maybe not.