WARNING: This blog discusses bodily functions. If that freaks you out, please do not read this blog. If you are a parent, though, you are just going to have to get over it, or so I have learned.

Sunday, around 10 a.m.
It was a lovely Sunday morning. The house was quiet and options for the day were limitless. I held Sophia in my arms feeding her a late morning bottle, we all slept in, thinking about how important these moments are since our life seems so hectic sometimes. After she finished the bottle, I held the baby up to burp her when she projectile vomited the entire bottle back at me. Stunned, drenched and freaked out, I held the baby close and went to the bedroom to clean us up, still trying to process what had just happened. The baby seemed fine after losing her brunch, she was already baby-babbling and grabbing her toes, but something was not right. She hardly ever spits up, and has never thrown-up an entire bottle.

Sunday, between 10 a.m. and noon
I am labeled as someone who overreacts. My husband points out that babies throw up and that Sophia is fine. We can judge that she is fine by the way she is playing, bouncing, babbling and having fun. So what that she hasn’t expressed any interest in food since tossing back up the bottle. She’s not going to eat the same amount every day. What am I going to do, call the doctor and say that my 6 month old threw up?

Sunday, early afternoon
I listen to my husband. This occurrence alone warrants its own blog. I keep an afternoon coffee date with a friend and agree to take the baby along. My husband is trying to finish his thesis and could use a few hours alone to work.

Sunday, 2:30 p.m.
The baby and I meet a friend for coffee. My husband was right, she’s fine. Not hungry, but fine. I’m not at all worried about her. Look at how alert she is and the way she plays and babbles. I won’t think another minute about how the baby feels, or about that fact that my friend has said on many occasions that if she sees a baby vomit she will do the same. It’s a reflex and she cannot stop it.

Sunday, about 2:35 p.m.
An employee at the coffee shop remarks on Sophia’s size. Yes, she’s a good-sized little girl. She’s strong and healthy!

Sunday, about 5:30
The baby is hungry so we give her a bottle. All is well.

Sunday, about 8:30
Sophia finished about half of another bottle and I put her to bed. She’s zonked! She always sleeps a lot when she is at home with us on the weekends.

Sunday, about 11 p.m.
No noise from the nursery for a while so I check the baby monitor. I see that Sophia has moved to the side of her crib and is right against the rail. I’ decide go in and get her situated. When I look in the crib I notice that her hair is wet. Does she have a high fever? I’m freaking out. Then I notice that the crib is wet. It’s not sweat – the baby threw up in her sleep and it’s everywhere. I grab her up, take her to our bedroom and begin cleaning her up and assessing the situation. I call the pediatrician’s office and wait for a callback. In the meantime, my husband and I hold her and let her lay on our bed. I knew something was wrong and I want to cry and tell her that I am sorry.

Sunday, almost midnight
The nurse on call at our pediatrician’s office returns my call and says that there is a stomach bug going around and it sounds like our baby girl caught it. She recommends giving her Pedialyte to prevent dehydration and give the bug couple of days to run its course. If she keeps throwing up, though, we’ll need to bring her to the doctor’s office.

Midnight
My husband leaves in search of Pedialyte. I ask him to get the non-flavored kind so that Sophia will not get addicted to the taste of yummy fruit juice.

Monday, not long after midnight.
I am holding Sophia. I can’t stand the fact that she is sick and I want her to feel well. We walk around the house – it’s quiet and peaceful like it was earlier in the day. The baby throws up again, but this time it’s stomach bile. There’s just not a lot left in her little tummy. I call my husband, and his cell phone rings in the other room. I’m freaking out. I call his parents, they live a few miles away, and ask for a ride to the emergency room. I’m concerned about dehydration. They tell me to call 911. I call 911.

Monday, around 12:45 a.m.
Paramedics arrive at our condo and tell me that the baby is not dehydrated. I tell them about my conversation with the nurse on call at our pediatrician’s office and they concur. They say that if they take us to the hospital, the doctors there are just going to give her Pedialyte. They recommend that I calm down, wait for my husband to return and then administer the magic elixir at home.

Monday, around 1 a.m.
My husband arrives to find paramedics in our house. He’s freaked out. They leave and we prepare the Pedialyte. Sophia hates it. She will not drink it from her bottle or a cup. At this point we decide to administer a half ounce with a medicine dropper. We do this a couple of times over the next hour and she goes to sleep. I do laundry and my husband leaves in search of flavored Pedialyte.

Monday, 6 a.m.
The baby is awake and drinks a couple of ounces of apple flavored Liquilyte, which is what my husband found at the store. I’m relieved knowing that she has something on her tummy and the nurse said that this would soothe her stomach as well. My husband leaves for school in D.C. and I try to get ready for work. The baby is not herself, though, and it’s a struggle.

Monday, during the day
Sophia stays at grandma and grandpa’s house like she usually does during the day. They administer the Liquilyte as suggested and even get her to take a bottle later in the day. The baby is doing well. Not 100 percent, but better. She’s going to be OK. I call way too many times to check up.

Monday, during the evening
Sophia and I have a challenging evening. I’m concerned about her becoming dehydrated since her appetite hasn’t returned. She takes about half a bottle before falling asleep in her playard in the living room. I decide that we need to sleep closer together so I can keep my eyes and ears on her. She’s in the playard, I’m on the couch.

Tuesday, about 4 a.m.
I wake up. All is well and I am debating whether to get up or try to go back to sleep when I hear Sophia’s bowels let loose. I pick her up; the poor thing is still trying to sleep but is covered in phase two of this stomach virus. I take her to bedroom and begin the clean-up. It takes a while but I manage. We go back to the living room and I place her on a blanket in the floor while I try to clean the playard. That’s not going well so I decide to try later. In the meantime, Sophia is ready for another clean-up session. This scenario happens one more time before I have to clean up and get ready for work. Poor kid, she is not feeling well and it appears that the only thing we can do it comfort her and let her work it out. I call my father-in-law and ask him to pick her up instead of having me bring her over this morning. I can’t put her down to get a shower. She needs the attention.

Tuesday, around 10 a.m.
I arrive at work. I’m not feeling well, but who would be after a couple of semi-sleepless nights and a morning of sick baby poo? Even though this is not a major illness it takes a lot of energy, physical and emotional. I bought and iced Americano at Starbucks on the way to work that will perk me up. For some reason, though, I just have no desire to drink my $3 beverage.

Tuesday, around 11 a.m.
I am heading home. I feel awful and am sure that I am ready to throw up the turkey sandwich I ate for breakfast.

Tuesday, noon
Yep. No more turkey sandwich. I have a conference call at 4 p.m. and I am calling in from home, and I have to get some work done before the call. Must finish throwing up before the call. Cannot toss cookies during a conference call. I call the in-laws and let them know that I am down for the count as well. They assure my that while things with the baby are still loose, she’s doing OK. They insist on keeping her until I feel better and I put up little resistance. I’m struggling and scared that I could not take care of both of us.

Tuesday, 4:45 p.m.
Luckily the conference call is wrapping because I need to visit the bathroom again. I seize a moment and leave the call. I spend about 10 minutes throwing up in the bathroom.

Tuesday evening
The house is empty and quiet and I am in a coma-like state in the bedroom. I move periodically from one side of the bed to the other, but am otherwise out of it. The phone rings and it’s my husband calling from D.C. He just threw up as well. I call the in-laws one more time and check on the girl and learn that there’s more concern about her loose stools because she will no longer drink the Liquilyte or Pedialyte, which my father-in-law found. They assure me they are taking good care of her; I know they are and leave it at that.

Tuesday, around 11 p.m.
I try to drink the unflavored Pedialyte because I need something to calm my stomach and this could do the trick. It’s weird how it’s unflavored but doesn’t taste like water. Maybe it’s the consistency. Regardless, I get why the kid doesn’t like it, but I can tell you that it was easy on my stomach. I decide to follow the nurse’s advice and have a small amount every 30 minutes, working up to a bit more if I can. It works and in the course of this regiment I taste the apple and fruit punch flavored versions as well. They also taste bad so I decide that we need to try the grape flavor.

Wednesday
Everyone in my family is sick. The baby has a diarrhea, my husband is throwing up and I am somewhere in between. I call the pediatrician’s office and they tell me that this is how it all plays out. We need to be mindful of dehydration and diaper rash, but otherwise this is just how it is. They suggest giving the baby “binding foods,” such as applesauce, bananas, rice cereal and potatoes. My in-laws make that their mantra and tell me to stay away for another day. I go into the office for a brief meeting but am otherwise asleep or working from home. I cannot take being away from the baby and decide to visit her at the in-laws house. I feel helpless and am thankful that they are taking good care of her. I visit for a while but eventually have to leave. The house is empty when I get home and my heart is broken. I feel like I am not doing a good job taking care of us, but then I remember that asking for help is not a bad thing. My in-laws love Sophia and it seems that somewhere along the way they decided to love me, too. I am grateful. I take another pass at cleaning the base of the playard, ground zero for phase two of the stomach virus, and eventually put it out on the front porch. It smells horrible and my stomach is not strong enough to clean it up. Later on I make chicken broth and eat it with about six saltine crackers.

Thursday
The baby is a bit better. Things are still loose, but better. They have their own thing going on, my in-laws and the baby, and when I call it’s like I am disrupting their thing. I decide this is good, but want to snatch up my baby before she forgets me and decides to call someone else “mommy.” I have to go to work, though, so I will have to wait a few more hours. I take Imodium and head down the road. I look bad and feel worse, but the odds of me losing my chicken broth from one end or the other are slim.

Thursday evening
We’re all at home, we all feel bad but it’s the happiest moment of the week. My husband arrived back from school today and looks like the walking dead. He smells bad as well, but that is also a whole other blog. My baby is not 100 percent but she is getting better. We had a nice warm bath followed by bananas and a bottle and then she was ready for bed. I held her for as long as I could, but eventually put her in the crib since she was trying to stretch and get comfortable and was finding it hard to do so in my arms. I keep checking on her, and her diaper, and all seems well. If this lasts then I think we are out of the woods, otherwise we’re going to the doctor. We are going to have to replace our playard, though, since it’s impossible to clean the base. It cannot be sanitary and I cannot bring myself to bring it inside. I decide that this is how otherwise perfect looking playards end up at Goodwill and the consignment store and decide that I am just going to have to buy a new one.