He threw up yesterday. A combination of eating too soon after being touched too much and coughing too hard. I was there for the event and As usual I am the only one who reaches in to grab him and throw him forward hoping it doesn't go down the wrong pipe. I get it all over me, but I don't care about that. My son's well being means too much to me to care. It spouted out of his trach like a faucet anyway. Even though I was there and I tried, it still happened.
Telling me it's not my fault does not make me feel like less of a piece of shit.
Now the wait begins. The wait to see if this causes added complication. The wait to see if a third pneumonia brews.
I drove home smelling like vomit. Tryng to do the errand necessary to keep the rest of my life afloat. My daughter can't return to school unless her immunizations are up to date and apparently she was missing two. For the life of me I could not figure out how. I meticulously took care of my children before this. She was due for nothing until
Her birthday. But this current life has made me crazy so I don't know what I can trust myself with being firm about anymore. An entire day spent getting to the doctor to find I was right, school was wrong. My anxiety about some school aides apparent mistake subsiding to make room for more anxiety over Jason. I promised my step kids things, and loving them as I do a part of me felt guilty for not following through. I took them shopping and called every hour to hear that Jason was doing so much better and that I shouldn't worry.
How can you ask me not to do my job? A mother worries about her kids. That's what we do.
He slept through the night without incident since the vomiting.
That is all I can ask for right now.
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