So, right now I should be baking four pies, a few dozen cookies, a carrot cake, and some dinner rolls. That's before prepping all the meat and veg for tomorrow's yearly Thanksgiving bash at ours. What am I doing instead? I'm watching my daughter throw puzzle pieces around the room and cast her eyes around for the next household item to destroy. And enjoying every second of it.
It's not like we had a near-death experience last night, but a trip to A&E was close enough to suit me. She's totally fine, she just slept really fitfully, I realised she was burning up, and then she had a weird little episode where she wouldn't look at Himself or me which prompted me to jump in the shower with her, still in my pj's, trying to get her temp down. When that didn't work, the panicky mother in me had us all in the car on the way to the hospital. They checked her ears and throat (and the tongue depressor made her lose everything she'd eaten in the last day all down my leg... broccoli smells BAD secondhand) gave her Calpol (which I could have done at home, if my panicky head had been thinking clearly) and waited for her fever to break (which it did, of course). She was asleep on the hospital bed, butt in the air, before we'd been at the hospital for half an hour.
The staff were lovely. Nobody even raised an eyebrow to indicate that they thought I was overreacting, they were professional and polite, it was exactly the reaction I needed in my (slightly) overwrought state. Hey, I managed not to cry... the whole time. *grin*
It's cliche, I know, but it really puts things into perspective. The drama of the last week in my London life, the emails from the silly little girl in NYC, none of that matters one teeny little bit. My kid is healthy, happy, and a tornado of destruction (I think that's normal, right?) and that's all I need in this world. I have a lot to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.
It's not like we had a near-death experience last night, but a trip to A&E was close enough to suit me. She's totally fine, she just slept really fitfully, I realised she was burning up, and then she had a weird little episode where she wouldn't look at Himself or me which prompted me to jump in the shower with her, still in my pj's, trying to get her temp down. When that didn't work, the panicky mother in me had us all in the car on the way to the hospital. They checked her ears and throat (and the tongue depressor made her lose everything she'd eaten in the last day all down my leg... broccoli smells BAD secondhand) gave her Calpol (which I could have done at home, if my panicky head had been thinking clearly) and waited for her fever to break (which it did, of course). She was asleep on the hospital bed, butt in the air, before we'd been at the hospital for half an hour.
It's cliche, I know, but it really puts things into perspective. The drama of the last week in my London life, the emails from the silly little girl in NYC, none of that matters one teeny little bit. My kid is healthy, happy, and a tornado of destruction (I think that's normal, right?) and that's all I need in this world. I have a lot to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.
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