I’ve had it easy.

And I didn’t realise how easy I had it until last night.

Just when I thought I was done telling parents at the park or the library and generally whenever we’re In Public that “Yes, I know my kid is coughing but she’s been worse and this is her getting better so don’t worry, she won’t give your kid emphysema”, Skyler is now down with a fever.

Now I’m good with coughs and runny noses but when a fever hits, I’m pretty much reduced to just a useless puddle of nerves. And more so because you know how there’s always one person in your family who almost always never gets sick? Sky is such a kid, which is bloody miraculous since she’s a preemie. Well, now The Kid Who Never Gets Sick is sick, proving once again that no matter how many times you keep telling yourself something, it won’t make it come true. Mom, are you reading this? President Bush?

So last night, I put the girls down at about 8.30pm as they had a late dinner, when 30 minutes later, I hear Skyler crying blue murder. Lokes isn’t home from his business dinner yetm and Raeven is starting to whine from the noise as she’d been asleep. So I pick Sky up, and she is BURNING. I’m thinking, fuckity fuck fuck. She refuses to be consoled so with her pinned at my side, I run down to the kitchen looking for Tylenol or Motrin. I’m rummaging the medicine cabinet as Skyler continues to scream and choke from her sobs something fierce, when suddenly she stops, shivers, DIGS into my shoulders (I need to cut those nails!),

and hurls.

What was a dinner of pizza and milk landed on my shoulder, my top, a good chunk of my newly washed and coloured hair, the kitchen floor, the kitchen counter. And through the whole ten seconds of projectile vomitting, all I could think was, did she eat all that? How can so much puke come from such a little girl? MY little girl?

Ten seconds later, drenched in puke and snot, I tell my two-year old, “Good job, Skyler, good job” because at least whatever is making her sick is out, right? This is what I used to console myself as she resumed her mind-numbing screaming, trying to wipe her pukey mouth and stringy nose on my already soiled shoulder, and then reeling back in disgust probably at the smell, and then throwing out an even louder scream after.

I set her down on the counter, toweled myself with reels and reels of Brawny, found some Children’s Motrin, stuck a teaspoon down her throat (which surprisingly stopped her screaming - yay for bubble-gum flavoured drugs) and took her temperature a second time. 102F.

Fuck.

I wished that was the end of my story. I wished the puking had helped, and the Motrin had worked and that I could tell you she was good as new today, which I’d thought she was, before I received a call from Karli (I’d been working at the school) who’d been babysitting her that her fever returned at103F. Of course, I panicked, grabbed Raeven who then started SCREAMING because she’d wanted to stay in school, a story I will not hesitate to tell her the moment she decides to hate school in the near future, drove home at 50mph, scooped up a sobbing Skyler, drove home, fed her crackers and water and then with her tightly snuggled in my arms, and Rae happily set up in front of the PC, I prayed for sleep to take my daughter and make her better. Isn’t it great how something so good is also good for you, sleep? That’s what I keep telling myself.

Let’s hope this time it DOES come true.

Sigh. What a night. What a morning. What a day. I’m exhausted. I need sleep. And

I need to wash that puke smell off.