Had a rough night. Caroline has been vomiting or having diarrhea for a couple of days, and we were worried what would happen if we left her in her crib. So I kept her in the living room where she slept in my lab pretty much the whole night while I stayed more or less awake the entire time. I kept my hand lightly on her stomach, and every so often I’d feel her stomach muscles tightening and have that much warning that she was about to barf, so I’d quickly get a large pot in front of her so she could puke into it. By 6 AM I felt like Kari in that Jack-Jack short cartoon, at which point Kath came downstairs and relieved me of duty. I literally don’t recall going up the stairs to bed.
Then I had to drive out to JFK in the afternoon to pick up Ariel, returning from visiting her mother in Arizona. Her plane was scheduled to get in at 5:15, and I wasn’t looking forward to driving back during rush hour. Then I suddenly thought, hey, we’re all the way in Queens, the Mets are at Shea tonight, let’s see if I can score some tickets and we’ll take in the game. Which was what I did, and we wound up in field level seats watching the Mets beat the Braves 5-4.
And, of course, now I’m working. Caroline, whom we took to the doctor who basically said to us, “It’s a virus, twenty dollars please” as we knew they would, seems to be recovering. So I’ve got the nursery monitor on, listening to make sure she’s okay. If something sounds amiss, I’ll try to get upstairs before she wakes up Kath.
Onward.
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