OK— this post isn't going to be
  particularly inspired, mainly because
  Mazzy and I just spent the last 24 hours
  with a stomach bug. ALSO I used up my
  one "Get Out Of Jail Free" card (aka
  the post I had in the hopper) yesterday
  with my major motion picture post AND
  I have about fifteen minutes before I
  head out to work.

  SOOOOOO…I'll get to it.

  I got home from work on Tuesday night
  at around 10pm (they really make you
  earn your freelance dollars) where I
  found Mike (my husband) all shaken up
and trying to reclaim the "Parent of the Year Award" for cleaning up a massive amount of throw-up. (We hadn't seen any throw-up action since the early spit-up phase so this was an EVENT). Mike said that Mazzy had thrown up three times, the last time completely covering the crib (my apologies for the visual) resulting in him having to give her a bath and wash the sheets. Included in this wash was "Boo" (aka her blankie) which was a PROBLEM to say the least. Finally, he was able to get her to accept a burp cloth as a subsitute and down she went.

Mike and I were both exhausted (me from work, him from partying it up at the "Parent of the Year" award show after-party) so we both went to bed. Right before I closed my eyes, I remember saying, "Mike? I feel like I am going to puke".

At about midnight, I woke up to the baby crying. I ran in, picked her up, and immediately was overcome with the need to eject every last food item from my body. I ran back into the bedroom, shoved Mazzy into Mike's half-conscious arms and ran to the bathroom. We won't go into detail but let's just say that by the time I came out it was like I had never eaten dinner. (Editor's Note: I almost linked the word "dinner" with a visual of what I had actually eaten for dinner but then decided to spare you).

Mike continued to take care of Mazzy while I made various trips back and forth to the bathroom (lunch, breakfast, yeah, those were gone too). Meanwhile, Mazzy had moved on from the puking phase and was now working on the other end of the spectrum (clear enough for you?).

Eventually, we all fell back asleep.

The next day, I couldn't even get out of bed without feeling like I was going to fall over and Mazzy still couldn't keep anything down. I was forced to call-in sick from the freelance job which I really hated to do— 1) because I can't stand not following through on a project and 2) I will pay for it, literally. Luckily, the nanny arrived at 8am so she was there to take Mazzy to the doctor. And having the nanny allowed me to sleep the majority of the day (when I wasn't doing other unmentionable things).

Later that night, at about 11pm, way after the nanny had gone home and Mike had gone to sleep, Mazzy woke up crying. I dragged myself out of bed and tried to soothe her back to sleep but she was miserable. She had snot pouring out of her nose (her least favorite thing on earth is having her nose wiped), her cheeks were all red and chapped and she didn't even want her bottle of Pedialyte. She kept pointing out of the room, which is what she does when she doesn't want to sleep anymore (kudos to her for her superior communication skills), until I was left with no choice but to heed her demands. I took her into the living room where the only thing I could do to get her to stop crying was turn on the television (sorry, Dr. B). Together, through sniffling, puking, and sweating, we watched the entirety of "The Blind Side".

Sidenote: I always know I am really sick when I cry at bad movies. "The Blind Side" was no exception (he goes back to the car to give her a hug!). The last time I was sick, I cried at "Armaggedon" (she thinks both her dad and her boyfriend were killed in SPACE!). I have no idea what would happen if I combined being sick with watching a movie that is justifiably heartwrenching (aka Marley & Me). I'd probably spiral into a year-long depression.

Finally, at about 2am, after countless nose wipes, spit-up catches, Aquaphor applications and way too much Sandra Bullock, I was able to get Mazzy to go back to sleep. Then I quietly rejoined my sleeping husband where I whispered in his ear, "Sorry, babe, "The Parenting of the Year Award" is ALL MINE" before dozing off myself. After all, there is nothing that screams "PARENTING" more than taking care of a sick baby when you, yourself, feel like DEATH.

During the night, I woke up at least three times in a cold sweat but by 7am, when Mazzy announced to the world that she was ready to start her day, I was feeling 100% better. 

Then I thought— CRAP! I need a blog post! So here we are.

GOOD MORNING!