This was the sickest day of all, last Wednesday. Brother even watched a full 2 minutes of TV show before trying to jump off the bed.

Ya know those Facebook posts that says things like, “Everyone in my house is sick. Prayers needed,” or “Sickness is everywhere in my family, I’m the last man standing.” My newsfeed seems to be full of these kinds of status updates. I see them and don’t think much about them. I mean, kids get sick, right? No big deal.

Well, that is, until MY kiddos get sick. You see, we have been blessed with extremely healthy babies. In fact, Bitzy hasn’t even been to the doctor once since her 2 year well check-up 6 months ago! I love, love, love taking care of my little miracles in sickness and in health, but I gotta tell ya, I’m not used to the sick stuff. It’s tough.

A few weeks ago I had this whole guilt thing about how they weren’t be socialized enough and what a terrible mommy I was, yada, yada, yada. So I made plans to have a play date every single day of that week.

Silly me. 

I forgot about the small detail of GERMS.

I know, I know…it’s good for them and all of that. But after being in the sick trenches for a week I’m really doubting it.

They don’t know how to handle it and I surely don’t either. When they get sick, it’s a doozy.

My sick little sweetheart Bitzy. 

So last Monday afternoon they both seemed a little, “off.” Then, cue the snot. Oh, the wondrous snot. It came out of nowhere and is still pouring like rain.

So basically for 8 days straight we’ve been in this house. That’s right. We did try a “nature hike” on Saturday and a walk today, but mainly we’ve been at home. You see, I’m a firm believer in keeping kids home when they have any kind of disgusting goo coming out of their bodies. I don’t want other kids goo on my babies or vice versa. Goo is gross.

I know that other people (ahem) do not subscribe to this, and for that, I would like to ask you to reconsider. Please remember that next time you want to take your snotty children to the library (aka: germ factory), the nursery at church, the playground, wherever, please remember the 8 days, 8 DAYS PEOPLE, that I have been trapped in this house.

Last Friday (Day #4 of sickville), I took them to the doctor just for fun. I mean, I know it’s “just” a cold, but they seemed to be particularly miserable.

Lo and behold for the first time ever my Bitzy had an ear infection. I couldn’t believe it. Brother was perfectly fine, well, except for the green snot pouring out of his perfect tiny nose. “Just a cold,” the doctor said. First of all, there is no “just” in this childs cold. Secondly, didn’t you go to medical school? Give my precious little nugget something to make all the yuckies go away.

I mistakenly thought that getting the magic pink medicine  for Bitzy would be a cure-all for my sweetheart, but alas, she’s still a sicky. Granted, she’s MUCH better than she was, but she’s not quite herself.

This was a real low point for me. I actually allowed my children to eat ice cream for dinner since they’ve been on an eating strike. 

For example, she slept 14 hours straight last night: that’s NOT herself (normally, she’s good for a solid 12). Or today when we tried walking to the park and I carried her most of the way there and back: that’s NOT normal. Or the fact that the child has barely eaten at all for a week: NOT normal.

On top of all this she’s cutting her 2 year molars and her hands are constantly in her mouth. That’s not great for the whole germ issue.

So there you have it…I’ve been in sick mode.

BTW: On top of my precious ones being sick, Zach and I have been sicker than dogs as well. But as they say, misery loves company.

The good news? I think we’re mostly out of the woods. Despite the neverending snot, I do think the worst is over, thank Jesus in heaven.

The silver lining here is that I realize how much I take all of our health for granted. What a gift it is! There is nothing like being super sick and missing being healthy so much to make one appreicate the joy of feeling great.

Well, and the snuggles. I’ll take the snuggles any day of the week.

I was around 24 weeks in this pic. Now at 28 weeks I’m at least 899% bigger. It’s a real situation.

Remind me never to get pregnant again in the winter okay?

No really.

When I was preggers with Bitzy we found out in February and by the time I was actually showing and starting to feel the effects of growing a tiny human, it was spring. I totally missed the plagues of winter.

Granted I had a whole lot of other annoying pregnancy issues, but at least I wasn’t sick all the time.

On the other hand, with this new little baby boy growing inside of me we found out in September, which puts me smack dab in the middle of pregnancy misery in the dead of winter.

So far, I have had two terrible bouts of bronchitis coupled with the special treat of a sinus infection, and most recently, a stomach flu which put me inches away from having to get fluids at labor and delivery.

Again, remind me that pregnancy is winter is a really bad idea. Sure, there is no swelling from the hellish heat, but standing at deaths door from the plagues of winter and apparently nonexistent immunity, make for a tough few months.

(Maybe this has something to do with the fact that I am, in fact, growing a tiny human as well as nursing a toddler…hmmm..something to consider).

Anyway, the moral of the story is that I hate being sick. Hate it. And I have become quite familiar with sickness this winter, which is a drag in general.

However, I will pledge to be sick forever rather than to watch my sweet little angel be sick ever again. My goodness that sweetie is so pitiful when she’s a sicko.

There is generally a 1-2 day window between when I contract the disease and when Bitzy gets it.

For example, on Friday night around 8:00pm I began feeling terrible, and by 3:00am I was on the phone with my OB begging him to call me in medicine to help me stop vomiting in order to not have to go to labor and delivery due to dehydration. I was in a bad place.

Fast forward 48 hours to Sunday night and around 9:00pm I hear my sweetheart crying on the monitor, which despite our sleep wars of the past, nowadays if she wakes up in the middle of the night it is very strange indeed.

After obsessing and pacing with my handy dandy video monitor I finally ventured upstairs to check on her.

I was not prepared for what I found .

She was covered from head to toe in vomit. The sheets, her lovely, even her sleep sheep were covered.

Needless to say, she was completely confused and pathetic.

I practically broke my neck to run to her and cuddle her despite her unfortunate stench. She whimpered and snuggled close to me.

She was so completely covered that we had to give her a bath, which was confusing to her and apparently devastating. The entire bath she wailed and screamed, it was pitiful.

Unfortunately this particular virus wasn’t a one vomit wonder. There were lots. Like lots and lots. Finally, after several rounds of changing her pajamas and changing my shirts we ended up back in the rocking chair skin to skin with a blanket wrapped around us.

There was something so simple and almost primitive about it. It was beautiful in fact. A mother and daughter clinging to each other, not only for heat but for reassurance. I needed to know that she was okay and that this would pass and she needed to know that her mama was there.

I probably whispered, “It’s okay baby, mama is here” at least 100 times in the wee hours of the morning as we clung to each other.

It was a rite of passage I suppose.

Motherhood isn’t just about reading the same book 20 times a day. Or giving baths and snuggles. Or even about begging God to protect the little person that has totally captured my heart in a short 15 months.

It’s about being there.

Being present.

Being the one person that she wants most in all the world when she feels that her little world is being shaken apart.

I don’t have to be the prettiest or the funniest mama ever. I don’t have to know all the right answers and always do everything right. But I do have to be there. To hold and rock and whisper that everything is going to be okay. To comfort, adjust and teach. To love.

To always love.

That’s what I learned about motherhood through the plague.

A hard fought lesson, but a necessary one nonetheless.

Greetings my dear friends!

I’m so sorry that I have fallen off the blogging wagon as of late. To be honest, I’m tired, like really tired, and the first thing to go in my family unfortunately isn’t laundry, it’s this little corner of the world wide web.

Also, my sweet Bitzy has been sick for going on 2 weeks. Poor little Bitzy Boo. Last week she had Roseola or Baby Measles, which was a high fever (101-102.5) for 4 days and then she broke out into a rash all over her tiny little body. Then just when I thought she was healthy again now she has a nasty head cold and she’s currently cutting 5 teeth at once.

She’s not so good at being sick, and frankly I’m not great at it either.

While I’m a nervous wreck about my sweetheart being sick, she’s been healthy for a full year with only 2 minor colds. I would say that we’ve made out pretty well, but that still doesn’t ease the snot that’s pouring out of her tiny little button nose.  Remember her first cold? Read about it here.

Oh, and another reason I’m tired…

That’s right.

I’m with child!!! Sweet new baby is due May 27th, 2011!!!!

Were we trying, you ask?

Not exactly, but we’re thrilled and feel so blessed by this new little person already.

So…sorry that I’ve been, ahem, preoccupied.

I’ll try to do better.

I never used to worry.

The optimal word here is “used to.”

Oh wait, that’s two words.

Anyway, it appears (based on strong evidence) that I have become a worrier.

I think it all started when Zach and I got engaged. When I began planning our wedding and spending hours dreaming of our blissful future, the sneaking fear that something could happen to my love, my sweetheart, my soul mate began to invade my every thought.

I am the girl that was strong, fearless and a risk taker.  Not a worrier. Worriers are for the weak and timid.  Worrying was for pansies.  Not me, nope, no way.

But little by little, thoughts of living without Zach began to invade my mind.  It was a crippling fear.  Then as time went on, I slowly became less obsessed with awful thoughts of something horrible happening, and focused on semi-horrible things.

So instead of obsessing about him dying in a car wreck, I would think of him getting struck by lightening and being in the ICU for months.

I’m sick.  Seriously sick.

So I tried to not obsessively worry.  I really did.  And then, I got pregnant.  And it got worse.  Way worse.

The confusing thing about my worrying is that I’m a very positive gal. Glass half full and all that, so all this worrying doesn’t mesh with my groove, ya know?  It’s all very strange to me too.

All I know is that I worry constantly and I don’t like it one bit.

The Bible says that worrying doesn’t add a single day to our lives and I believe it (Matthew 6:27), but yet I’m really struggling with the “implementation” of that verse.  I know that God has plans to prosper me and not to harm me, to give me a hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11), isn’t that enough for me?  Why, why, why can’t I just trust the Lord in everything and not worry?

So now I’m off to worry about why I worry so much.

I annoy myself.

I would rather eat yellow cake batter than almost anything.  Yes, I am aware that raw eggs could make me very sick. It’s totally worth the risk.

Gracie is the single most fantastic thing that I’ve ever done and I want about 30 more children.  I figure if I get pregnant every year for the next ten years and have triplets every time then it’s possible!  Then, I’ll have all of my 31 babies before my eggs dry up and just in time for a TLC prime time show.

I hate going to the mall.  I’ll take Target any day.

I have amazing girlfriends.  They truly are a blessing straight from the hand of God (wait, that’s not a confession. Sorry).

When I’m at home I hardly ever cover my mouth to sneeze.  I’m gross that way.

I loved my husband long before he loved me.  It’s true.  I was totally bananas over him in college and he broke my heart.  But don’t worry, I won him over eventually.  The lesson here is, girls never give up.  Stalk ‘em long enough and they’ll come around.

I love breastfeeding so much that I wonder if I’ll be the mom who is breastfeeding the kid ’til she’s 7.

I am kind of a hypochondriac.  The weird thing about this isn’t the “fear” of dying, it’s more that I want to know what’s happening with my body at all times.  This also correlates with my obsession with all medical shows.  I’m sort of a doctor.  Who need Medical school when Grey’s Anatomy is on?

Speaking of, every single time I have my blood pressure taken I get really nervous and I’m afraid that it will skyrocket and then the doctor will make me take medicine unnecessarily.  I know that this probably will never happen, but it still makes me nervous.

I used to love to clean and now I just can’t be bothered with it.  My house is dusty and dirty but I just can’t find the motivation or the time/energy to clean it.  So, I suppose I’ll continue to waste money paying someone to.  (Don’t judge me.).

I find it funny/odd that so many people take pride in being “sarcastic.”  I think that having the “gift of sarcasm” is just an excuse to be rude.

I used to love Duke basketball, but these days, I have no interest in it. Sorry Duke, it was a fun ride.

When I see things that remind me of something I often have to really think about whether I remember it from my own life, a dream or a movie.  It all gets muddled in my mind…. how old am I anyway?  Am I losing it already?

My favorite color is yellow (wait, is that a confession?  I don’t think so.  There I go again).

I accidentally borrowed (not stole) my parent’s car when I was at the ripe old age of 13.  And…I wrecked it.  And…then lied about it.  Not my finest moment, but a learning experience to be sure.

I think Snuggies are weird and scratchy…and they are made out of felt. I hate felt (unless it’s on a board and you’re putting up little Bible characters like Miss Jean did when I was in Sunday School).  Shouldn’t something called a “snuggie” be soft and cuddly and not feel like cardboard?

My mama and my husband are my two best friends.  They have to love me, they have no choice.

I have been told that I’m “so photogenic.”  I confess that I have spent an embarrassingly absurb amount of time practicing in the mirror. Sure, most of this happened when I was 13, but let’s face it, I have an occasional practice session. BTW:   If it’s true that I am, in fact, photogenic, does this mean that in real life I’m not nearly as attractive as I am in pictures?

There are many more confessions…stay tuned.

When you have a baby there are scores of things that people never tell you…things that are ugly, horrible and completely disgusting.  One of these sad truths is venturing out to the Pediatricians office for the first time.  It was…hmmm…….an experience.

Baby Gracie was only 4 days old when we ventured out to the Pediatricians office.  Take in mind that I was still bleeding profusely (that’s one of those sad disgusting truths that no one told me about), my emotions were doing jumping jacks, and in my opinion, and as a new mama, my baby was much too young to be going anywhere.

But alas, we  had to do it.  This wasn’t the first time that we had been in the office as we had come to check it out when I was preggers, but this was the first time with a precious little person that was outside of my body, who, might I add, elicits a strong fear of germs in me with each step outside of the house.  I used to notice wall colors and vases in the homes, offices, stores & restaurants that we went…not anymore.  Now I hone in on anyone who is coughing, rubbing their eyes, or breathing too heavy.  Don’t they know that I have a newborn!  Stay inside you nasty selfish people!!!  So anyway, at Baby Gracie’s first appointment I noticed that there was a “well side” and a “sick side” thinking, “oh that’s nice that the germy little monsters can’t get near my precious & perfectly healthy child.”  I went on my merry way trying to make it through the appointment with a screaming baby eyeing every child in there, looking for cues to their unhealthiness.   At that first appointment, one thing was clear, I didn’t want to ever be on the “sick” side of this office.  The sick side is germy, dark and stuffy and has the stench of dirty diapers and vomit, where the “well” side is bright, healthy and breezy and smell of clean laundry and lavender.

Then it happened.  At the tiny age of 12 weeks old, my perfect baby came down with a cold.  I, being a completely insane mother called the office and asked for her to be seen.  While they discouraged me because after all, they couldn’t do anything for her, I still wanted to go.  It was HEARTBREAKING seeing my baby with a stuffy nose and darn it, they should know how to magically make her better.  What did they go to medical school for anyway?!  Come on!

So off we went, what I didn’t remember was the awful “sick side.”

As we walked into the foyer I automatically turned left into the “well side”…then pausing to the remember that runny noses are normally not a sign of perfect health…we turned right into dark grimy sidewalk to germville.  As I looked into the room I didn’t see children, I saw germs.  My perfect child didn’t belong in there!  She deserved her own room away from all the gross germys.  I practically buried her head in my chest to somehow keep the germs away.  It didn’t help that every child in the room seemed to be hacking up a lung.  Gross.

But alas, we made it.  Basically I paid $30 for them to tell me that there’s nothing they could do and to be scarred for life after sitting in the “sick side.”  I would rather wait in line at Walmart for an hour than spend 5 minutes in that nasty room…although something tells me that when we’ve got child #4 under our belts I’ll just be happy to sit anywhere…even in the sick side.