1AM: Connor is up (he is still sleeping in our room, crammed into his bassinet because he wakes up constantly and we are too worried he will disturb Liam.) He has a cold. He coughs, carries on and goes back down.
2:15AM: Connor is up, he cries until I give him a bottle, he throws up all over me and the bed.
3AM: Alarm goes off to give Connor his nebulizer treatment.
4:30AM: Liam is in our room, Jesse walks him back to bed.
5AM: Connor is up, throws up.
6AM: Liam is back, Connor is crying, I give up and get up. I let Jesse sleep a little.
7AM: Connor: nebulizer treatment.
7:15AM: Jesse is up. He and Liam frantically get ready for swim class.
7:55AM: They leave. I get Connor and myself ready.
8:05AM: Connor and I head out to his followup appointment at the pediatrician.
9AM: Get a great report from the doctor that Connor's doing better and should improve.
9:10AM: Hit D&D for coffee (for me) and donuts (for everyone.)
9:30AM: Home finally and it's quiet.
9:45AM: Call to chat with my mom without any Liam-infused distractions.
9:46AM: Connor has diarrhea.
9:47AM: Hang up the phone.
10—11AM: Change, wash-down and feed Connor, brace for vomit, and put him down.
11:10AM: Give Connor nebulizer treatment while he is sleeping, think I'm a genius.
11:11AM: Sit down, almost don't know what to do with myself.
11:20AM: Jesse and Liam are back.
11:40AM: Eat donuts, realize we are eating breakfast at lunchtime and nominate myself for Mother of the Year.
NOON: Wash swim clothes.
12:15PM: Connor is up, throws up.
12:30—1:50PM: Liam stages an elaborate dress up showcase featuring new costumes we got for him at a party store that was closing down (80% off, who could refuse) while Connor cries—the. whole. time.
1:55PM: Liam comes running to me in the kitchen dressed as Go Diego Go, he slips and falls face first into our barstool.
1:56PM: He jumps up screaming and crying, one eye closed and a purple egg already formed.
1:56:30PM: Pick him up and hoist him onto a table to examine his face while praying his eyeball is still in there!
1:57PM: Eyeball is there, check! But his face is all purple and swelling fast….
1:58PM: Yell to Jesse to put a crying Connor down and call the pediatrician ASAP—they close at 2PM and we NEED them to stay open for us or we are heading to the hospital (for reference: Doc office is 10 blocks away, nearest "good" hospital: 25-30 minutes away.)
2:01PM: Jesse throws Liam in the car to drive to the pediatrician, who thankfully will wait for us.
2:07PM: Connor is bundled and in the Bjorn as we run/walk to meet them at the doctor's office.
2:08PM: Connor finally sleeps, thank you baby!
2:09PM Walk to the 10 blocks nearly hyperventilating through the streets—what if he is bleeding internally, what if there is damage to his eye, what if, what if, what if….
2:15PM: I get to the doctor's office where the receptionist points to the back and says, "he's OK, but not sure if he broke anything." BROKE ANYTHING, hadn't even worried about that yet!
2:20PM: Leaving the doctor's office completely worn out. The swelling is too bad for x-rays, but no one thinks he broke anything, it just needs lots of ice. Please note: Connor was the first patient of the day, Liam was the last, I was there twice and I am pretty sure we just paid for a new wing to be added….)
2:22PM: Walk home slowly—pick up strawberries, Liam's favorite.
2:30PM: Liam refuses to ice his face because it hurts too much until Jesse remembers an ice mask we have in the fridge—from a time when I used to get horrible headaches. This totally works. Liam is transformed into "Ice Man," and I almost forget that he is swollen and bruised like he has been on the wrong end of a bar fight.
3PM: Connor: nebulizer
3:10—5PM: Liam ice. Connor cough. Connor vomit. AND REPEAT.
5:10PM: Realize I am out of pajama bottoms (Connor threw up on all of them) and resort to wearing yoga pants.
5:15PM: Become paralyzed at the thought of making dinner until I realize there are awesome sausages in the fridge…
5:30PM: Switch out Liam's ice mask and think if I saw this kid, I would so call Child Protective Services.
5:35PM: Email daycare telling them Liam and Connor will be out on Monday.
6:30PM: Dinner—Liam has eaten too many strawberries and donuts…
7PM: Connor: nebulizer
7:10PM: Bathtime—Liam in the tub and Connor in the sink.
7:30PM: Pajamas: why does this take SO LONG? There is dancing, singing, carrying on….
8PM: Books, songs, bed for both.
8:05PM: I do a day's worth of dishes.
8:15PM: Liam is out of his room because he "has to tell you something"
8:30PM Liam is crying in his sleep, we give him Tylenol.
9PM: Connor is up and hungry.
9:10PM: Connor throws up.
9:30PM Reach a breaking point, there is laughing, there is crying, there is ice cream.
Honestly I am too worn out to get into Sunday, but here are a few honorable mentions:
Liam is told to "stop running" no less than 5 million times.
Connor has coughing fits.
LIAM HAS NO ACCIDENTS. TAKES HIMSELF TO THE BATHROOM WITHOUT PROMPTING AND POOPS IN THE POTTY! YES YES YES!
Sunday night: Snuggle a sleeping Connor and try to remember Liam ever being this small. Make a note to remember this moment, when the apartment is calm and the baby is a pleasant weight in my arms. Wonder what he is going to be like and secretly hope he will be quiet, bookish and won't fall into any barstools.
Here is a look at Liam's shiner: