Dave came home last night, and my parents left this morning. I have a whole blog entry about this visit sort of working its way out in my head, but I’ll leave that for now. Here’s the important stuff, which is of course about my kid:

Last night Catie seemed to be doing great. She ate more dinner than normal. She took a big poop in her diaper without crying (a first since we started all of this wretched potty-training business), and then kept telling my very conservative father, “Pop-Pop, it was HUUUGE poop! And it was brown!” (God, I love that kid.) She was happy and playful and great. Then Dave came home, and oh my lord, the dancing and squealing and outright glee… she was fantastic. We finally got her to bed, although it was pretty late (around 11:30 – she normally goes to bed around 10 or so).

She woke up crying at 1:30. Dave got her and brought her to bed with us. I thought she had probably had a nightmare. She seemed a little warm, but I also thought maybe she was just overheated by the fleece blanket that she loves to sleep with. At 5:30, she woke up again and asked for milk. Dave took her downstairs because he’s good about that stuff, plus I think he’s making up for leaving me on solo parent duty for 5 days.

They came back upstairs, and as Dave was about to set Catie down in bed, she made this weird “URP!” sound. I bolted awake and said, “Did she just throw up?” Dave said no, but that it sounded like she almost did. Something set off an alarm bell in my head. I picked her up and carried her into our bathroom. About 10 seconds later, she puked her guts out all over herself and me. I got us both in the shower to clean us up (milk barf in my hair = EWW), then I passed her off to Dave so I could go clean up the bathroom and start some laundry. It took a while but we finally got her back to sleep.

Later this morning – just as I was about to leave to take my parents to the airport, in fact – she threw up again. This time it was only juice and I managed to catch most of it in a tupperware container. Nothing since then, but all she’s consumed is the tiniest sip of water and a tiny bit of juice (which has stayed down, thankfully). The main thing I’m worried about is that I know she has a fever, and I can’t get her to agree to take any Tylenol or Motrin. I know from experience that if I force it, she’ll barf it right back up. Purpose = defeated.

So that’s what’s going on here. Dave is home, which is great, but my parents are gone and my baby is sick. So I’ve spent a good chunk of the day feeling on the verge of tears. It sucks. I’m praying that this is just a 24-hour bug that will pass quickly, and also that Dave and I don’t catch it. Blah.