The Princess is sick. Maybe. I'm really not sure at this point.
See, my kids, they both have a problem with...er...regularity. If you know what I mean. It's been a lifelong battle for both of them. Mostly we handle it quite nicely through their diet, but every once in awhile, things come to a screeching halt.
That's what happened this weekend. We tried water, we tried fiber and fruit and more water. Finally I got fed up and resorted to something I haven't done since she was a baby: the glycerin suppository.
First of all, if you can get past the image of my administering what basically amounts to a miniature enema to my five-year-old...and please, do your best to get past that ASAP...then you have to live through 4 hours of miserable, noisy, guilt-inducing agony. Because apparently, when those things go to work, it hurts.
Have I mentioned my daughter is somewhat...dramatic? When she was 4, she caught sight of some kind of awful marshmallow chocolate sugar cereal at the grocery store (actually, it looked AMAZING and DELICIOUS but that's not the point). I told her no, she needed to choose Raisin Bran or Frosted Mini Wheats (meanest mom ever). Her response was to throw her head back and declare for the entire store to hear, in the most theatrical fashion possible: "All my dreams have been shattered!" An old lady also shopping for cereal got such a kick out of it that she's probably still laughing somewhere.
So you can imagine, if being denied marshmallow cereal shatters all her dreams, what actual nonfictional physical pain does to her.
I spent half my Saturday on the bathroom floor with my writhing child listening to her audition for some new reality show about suicidal kindergartners ("Toddlers & Torment"? "Small Fries & Self-Murder"? "Ankle Biters & Anguish"?). She was literally wishing for death. Where does she get these ideas? I honestly do not know. I almost never sit in front of my children and wish I was dead. But the Princess was moaning and screaming like a professional wailer, "I wish I could just die right now! I don't want to live anymore! Why can't I just DIE?"
And you guys? The suppository? It didn't work. Hours of pain and pleas for death....no poo.
Eventually the day ended and she went to bed. That night she wet the bed, which she hasn't done in years. Again, no poo. Just a wet bed. So I moved her to the floor. She woke up several times with a sore tummy and spent a good portion of the night on the toilet, to no avail.
So the next day I went to the store and bought Pedialax Chewables. I mean, something had to be done, right?? The bottle said for ages 2-5, give 1-3 tablets. OK, she's 5. And the suppository already failed so I can only assume we're dealing with some kind of serious, industrial-strength constipation here. So I gave her 2. Two Pedialax Chewable tablets. Not 3! The bottle said I could do 3. I only gave her 2, ok?
Nothing. We happened to be at a friend's house Sunday afternoon and she played all day. I interrupted her every half hour or so. "Do you need to go?" "No, Mom." "Are you feeling ok?" "I'm fine, Mom." (Fidgeting, making side-eyes towards the friend's playroom, wondering if anybody can hear this conversation.)
Honestly. I'm so embarrassing.
At 5 p.m. we went to church. Of course, she's fine all day playing, but as soon as it's time to sit still and be quiet the writhing begins. The moaning. The squinched up drama queen face. Oooooh, the pain. The agony!
So we move to the back row, pay several visits to the ladies' room. At this point I imagine the Pedialax is making its presence known and it's only a matter of time. But nothing. Nothing yet. And it's time to go home.
We have about a 30-minute drive. Hmmmm.
Five minutes into the drive she's literally screaming in the backseat. I'm starting to panic. Grandma's house! My mom's house is on our way home. We'll stop there. We screech into the driveway and run inside. I let her in, tell her "Bathroom! Now!" and return to the car for the baby, who at this point is very confused and annoyed at all this excitement that has nothing to do with him.
Eventually, friends, she did her business. At Grandma's house. I know, you're very relieved. We all were. We piled back into the car and headed for home. She fell asleep in the car, exhausted like she's just given birth. Which she kind of has. In a way. And then? She wakes up. Because she's puking. All over my car.
So. Get home, put her in the shower, send her straight to bed where she passes out instantly. Clean the car. Eat dinner. Put the baby to bed. Monday morning, call in sick, call the school, call the Monster's babysitter. We're staying home.
Did I poison her? Did Pedialax make her throw up? No idea. I'm fairly certain the vomiting was more a result of the pain and the strain and all the general upheaval her little body was going through. That makes sense, right? And it only happened once.
Guess what? Monday she's basically fine. Hungry, maybe a little tired and sore, but mostly ok. Great! We'll all go back about our lives on Tuesday.
Except Monday night, she feels kind of warm to me. And this morning, she's even warmer. So I take her temperature. 100.7. Not exactly ER material, but too high for school. And now she's actually acting sick. Like, sitting still for extended periods of time.
So what on earth is going on?? What started out as pretty routine constipation problems end in vomiting and fever?
Should I be calling the doctor instead of blogging?
When her fever went up even higher this morning (Wednesday), we called the doctor. She has a throat infection and possibly an ear infection. My healthy, robust baby girl has NEVER had an ear infection! But we've got our antibiotics and she's cleared to go back to school.