A Blow Out of a Day

Grant has had a terrible time readjusting to normal life since his surgery. We spent a week with night wakings (can't blame him after major toddler surgery), but then we had two nights back to sleeping 12 hours. Then, just as Bret was getting on a plane for China, Grant threw a curveball. For three nights in a row, for no apparent reason, Grant woke up about ever 45 minutes screaming. I'm not kidding. He woke up between 10 and 15 times a night. It was WAY worse than those newborn nights, and I was about ready to pull my hair out.

So, last night, after three nights of this terror, we had a talk. I told him that if he didn't sleep through the night, I would take him back to the doctor (at which point he says "Dr. Walters" [his pediatrician]) and have the adenoids put back in. This kind of lying for the sake of sleep runs in my family. My mom just told me the other day about how, when I was about three, we boarded a plane while she was sick (I'm sure the FAA would have something to say about her infestation of flight 1834 from LA to San Jose). She told me that all she wanted to do was sleep, but I wouldn't shut up. She finally threatened me with a whopper of a lie. She said that the pilot didn't like little girls who talked, and if I kept talking, he would come and make me sit on the wing of the plane. Seeing how I had a window seat right over said wing, I pondered her threat. But, then it started. How would I stay on the wing? Could I fall off? If I fell, would my mom come get me? What about the girl talking a few rows back? Needless to say, my mom's little white lie didn't work out.

But, Grant, on the other hand, took the potential threat of anesthesia and reversal surgery very seriously, and he slept for 12 solid hours. I still only got about 4 hours of sleep (don't you hate that point where you are really, really tired, and you keep telling yourself, "you should be asleep" and "you'll be really tired if you don't sleep," but you just can't fall asleep. Needless to say, I played Mindsweeper on the computer (yes, I'm addicted to that free game that comes with PCs the world over)).

So, to make a long story even longer, when Grant went down for his nap at 1pm today, Mommy also went down. This is when things started going bad. I woke up feeling sick. Not stomach sick. Not cold sick. Headache sick. At one point, I even felt around my head because I was sure I had a gaping head wound (I'm serious). I was dizzy, didn't feel comfortable walking, and downed some meds and caffeine as quickly as possible. The fog cleared, and while I had a load of errands I had been planning to run, the fog left me feeling lethargic and ready for a quick meal at Taco Bell (which Grant now says all the time. He also says McDonalds, chicken nuggets and ice cream cone every other day. I swear, we don't eat that much fast food).

So, my mom and I headed to Taco Bell. Afterwards, he headed to WalMart for a few necessities. In the parking lot of WalMart, I heard a familiar sound: Grant grunting. A quick look in the rear view mirror, and I saw his breathless pushing coupled with his red face, and I knew I had a dirty diaper to deal with ASAP. I told my mom that we'd run into the store and deal with it there. I wanted a table or sensible platform after all. And down hill it went.

First off, without sounding gross, it was the worse diaper in the history of Grantdom. All babies have those newborn blowouts. No big deal. This was no newborn blowout. It was toddler revenge. It was everywhere. His clothes, his shoes, his legs. It was coming out the top (and FRONT!!!) of his diaper.

It was at this moment that I realized that all my wipes were in the car. They were in the other diaper bag or had fallen out, but for sure, they weren't in the bag I was carrying. So, I huffed and puffed to aisle 4 while my mom waited with the soiled boy. After using half of the 400 pack of wipes, he was clean. I scooped the dirty clothes (those things should be burned... not washed) and was ready to redress the boy. Oops. What else was I missing in the diaper bag: pants. I was lucky enough to have one shirt, but that was it.

So off we went to the toddler section to buy a pair of pants. I also bought Grant a pair of Elmo slippers to ward off any future revenge he decided was due.

All in all, it was memorable evening. My mom's comment as we got in the van to come home: "I feel like I've been through the ringer."

Now, I'm off to burn those clothes, the clothes I was wearing, even the diaper bag because it surely got too close to some fumes.