First I got it. (Nursing while nauseous then running to the bathroom to puke with baby still at the breast. Priceless.)
Then, while I still had it, she got it. Way worse than I did. Then, Jason got it. Let's just say January's water bill will be steep and we've all totally had it up to here with vomit, headaches, fevers, chills and the like. At one point Storey was so bad we ended up taking her to the emergency room, because for days everything she ate, she threw up tenfold and babies + dehydration = dangerous.
Some of the most difficult moments about having a kid so far came about during this nastiness. There's nothing finer than guessing whether or not you should put your kid through the unpleasant experience of a few nights in a strange hospital bed, needles, IVs and lots of poking and prodding or keep her at home and hope that she's getting and retaining enough fluid. I've never doubted myself so much in my life. We opted for the stay at home, cross your fingers and wait it out route, but not without a lot of tears and sleepless nights (and of course, those were mine, not the kid's).
It's been a full seven days already and she's still blowin' out the bottom end, but is slowly getting her strength back. Yesterday she decided that as testament to her recovery she was going to start sitting up on her own. What a big kid! Look at her, all peaked and upright. Yes, she'll be doing a face-plant on the hardwood soon enough.
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