We're back to barfing. The Rock Star and I are fine, we haven't spewed yet. The Spud was fine all day yesterday but decided to throw up again today. Afterward he was incredibly fussy and lethargic so I called the doctor again. They wanted to see him.
At this point we have a plan of attack that involves Pedialyte, Maalox and soy formula. Maalox, for real. She is hopeful that his tummy is just so young that it can't handle having a gastrointestinal problem and isn't healing as quickly as an adult's would. But she was a little concerned that it might be something worse. Might be something that requires us taking him to Primary Children's for testing. Might be a bigger medical problem than "baby tummy". So if you could join us in praying that it's just a lingering influenza of some sort, that would be most appreciated.
I love our doctor's office. We drive about 25 minutes (there is probably one about 5 minutes away) because we love them so much. We usually see our pediatrician (we love her!) or the nurse practitioner (we love her, too!) Today, since I was already there--again--I asked the nurse practitioner if she would consider writing a letter to Matthew's counsel. I asked if she could just state that he's happy and (usually) healthy and up to date on his vaccinations. She was more than willing. She hugged me and I promise I wasn't crying or emotional or anything...she just hugged me. I'm a huggie person so it was totally okay. She tickled Matthew's tummy and said, "You have a really good mama." And she looked me in the eyes and said, "I will do whatever it takes to see this through. He belongs with you."
It made me feel warm and fuzzy inside but it's true. I mean, seriously, he fits right in with all our vomit. It was meant to be.