This morning we awoke to a little boy grabbing our faces with his talons, flapping his tongue in a very lizard-like fashion, talking to the passing clouds out the window and generally feeling better. It is good to have him back.
It was strange for a week to have a kid that we hardly recognized most of the time, lethargic and pale, thinning out (which is saying a lot for this little chunker) and not talking or rolling or grabbing Zola's tail. Being sick myself is one thing that sucks, but having Mason sick is a whole other issue. He can't vocalize what is hurting (we realized half way through the 10 day sickness that his teeth were also bothering him, adding a different kind of hurt to his weekly agenda) and so we were pushed to try every soothing technique we could imagine. He wouldn't nurse and so Audrey swelled, filling our freezer with a weeks worth of food. At some point, he didn't trust me at all (I kept having to shove an eye dropper full of Pedialyte down his gullet to keep him hydrated to which he quickly grew weary) and I had to resort to sneaking up on him to try and feed or hydrate him.
Aside from the copious amounts of puke, to which I couldn't even be around (I can handle poop, but actual human throw up is the bain of my existence and I wish to never hear, smell, or speak of it). Audrey, ever the champ, awoke with him in the middle of the night, not to feed, but to purge. Nearly every night in the past ten nights.
But today is a new day. Although he is still leaking out his mouth a bit, it is more overflow than the full contents of his belly. Audrey proudly announced his bi-hourly feeding schedule from last night. Zola's tail is once again a thing of interest. And so, we can now rest assured that he is moving past his first real sickness. I am sure that he has made it through much easier than his newbie parents, questioning every burb, gurgling stomach, and eruption, wondering if death is imminent.
I can calmly and assuredly say, for now, it is not.
