Monday Hannah was fussy from teething, but we worked through it. I went swimming while she tore it up in childwatch. After she went down for the night, I cooked some food and went to bed. At 3am I woke to nausea, and stabbing pains in my abdomen. The stomach virus hit me harder than it hit Ben, and I was very lucky that he was able to watch her the next two day as I stumbled around the house trying to will myself into a vertical position and failing miserably.
The beginning part of the week was shot, but that certainly didn't have to effect the remainder of the week. By Thursday I was feeling much better, though still battling a massive headache. Determined to move on with my week, I rested during Hannah's nap, and before setting out to dinner, downed some Advil and slathered my temples and neck in tiger balm. 20 minutes into the bus ride I was feeling pretty good. 25 minutes into the bus ride, I got a call from Ben, My Linh and Andrew's babysitter was sick; Dinner was canceled. I bet you it was the stomach flu, I though bitterly, at least I still have my weekend.
12:30 that night I woke to Hannah crying. After 20 minutes of listening to Ben try and coax her into sleep, I joined him in battle. Every attempt and every tactic was met with tears. She did NOT want to sleep. She played and cried off and on for the next 5 hours. After checking her out, the pediatrician told us that it sounded like a gastrointestinal development that happens around this age and can result in crying episodes due to intermittent pain. Though it was unlikely to happen again, there was a chance it could. As much as I was
Needless to say, Friday afternoon was a low point. On a normal week, taking care of a toddler is like driving up a mountain road in dense dense fog. On a good day it's impossible to see more than 2 feet in front of you. During a rough week, routine is imperative because it provides landmarks. These landmarks cultivate balance by punctuating chaos with satisfying meals, fulfilling activities, and oh so needed down time. Suffice it to say, Hannah and my routine for the week had been completely decimated. It had been close to a week since I'd been swimming, Hannah had grossly exceeded the amount of hours she would normally tolerate in the house, meals had been missed, and hours of sleep sacrificed. We were both grumpy and in a desperate need of some sort of beacon, though neither of us had the energy or inclination to search for one.
That night, Hannah Slept. Ben and I slept as well. Saturday morning we all had breakfast together and headed out to the Y for family swim. Hannah's restless legs chopped through the water like tiny propellers and her giggles echoed off every surface. I did some laps, and by the end of the swim we were all starting to feel as though we had found the first landmark back to routine, to normalcy, to a good night sleep, and to buckets and buckets of giggles.