Our weekend started on Friday morning. Jeremy had taken the day off and we wanted to take Ava to the zoo for the first time...but the weather wasn't cooperating, so we changed our plans and headed out to The Children's Museum. Before we got there, I envisioned Ava running through Play Scape, splashing her hands in the huge water table, coloring on sturdy pieces of white paper, and meticulously sorting through puzzle pieces. I imagined that she would ride in her stroller and drink in all the sights, mesmerized by the exhibits and other children.
But that's not really how it happened.
Ava had been running a low-grade fever since Thursday morning. She hadn't been eating well but other than that, she wasn't acting very sick. No crankiness, no dramatic melt-downs over the littlest things. There was a tiny part of my brain that thought maybe we shouldn't take her to the museum...but a bigger part of me rationalized that the fever was probably from teething, she wasn't
acting sick, and I didn't want us to waste Dada's day off. So we packed up the car and headed out...
Once we arrived, Ava flitted about here and there in Play Scape, but couldn't quite focus on just one activity for any length of time.
What she did enjoy most, which I was hoping would be the case, was the water table. She was tentative about it though, standing there watching the other kids, looking at the water without touching it, and then finally dipping her little hands into the cool liquid.
But most of the trip was spent in her stroller, scooping up Teddy Grahams from her cup holder and not paying much attention to all of the sights and things to do. Something just wasn't quite...right.
My uneasiness about her demeanor rose considerably when we got in the car and began heading home. She was hot and her eyes glassed over and became so heavy that she could hardly keep them open. After a few seconds of debating in my head about what to do, I called the pediatrician and we headed over for a quick check-up. Ava was not herself at all. She was burning up and clinging to me, completely the opposite of our last pediatrician's visit where she walked around the waiting room saying, "Hi!" to all the other kids. What we had now was one sick little buddy.
We were given the diagnosis of a virus and possible ear infection, so we picked up some antibiotics and headed home to see if Ava would eat a little bit for dinner. I made her a perfectly toddler-approved meal: a jelly sandwich (since peanut butter is still a no-no at her age), Goldfish crackers, and mandarin oranges. She managed to nibble here and there, but overall did not eat much.
It was a rough night. Her fever came back around 10pm, which caused her to wake up and whimper pitifully. I dosed her up with more medicine and held her hot little body close to mine as we rocked in her glider. She quickly quieted down and molded her sleepy self into me...and I cried. Tears dripped off my cheeks and into her wispy hair. You may think this is the not-so-bright side of parenting: rocking a sick child, worrying about a fever in the middle of the night, thinking no one this little should feel so hot. But really? It's what parenting is all about. There can't always be giggles and new words to say and the pitter-patter of feet across your floor. Sometimes there's sadness and tantrums and illness. And this is not a bad thing. Taking care of Ava when she's sick makes me feel
more like a parent than any other time. She needs me most when she's sick. She depends on me to make it better, and even though I feel like I'm not doing much in the middle of the night when she's burning up and sleepy and clingy, and I've dissolved into a mess of tears...I
am doing something. I'm comforting her and making her feel safe enough to sink back into dreamland. And THAT is the bright side!
Thankfully she woke up on Saturday fever-free and back to her old self. We still wanted to be cautious and let her have a day of rest, so Jeremy stayed home with her while I went to my grandma's house. Mamaw has lived in the same house since moving here from Virginia when my mom was ten, and now that Papaw is in a nursing home and there was money that needed to be spent (due to insurance reasons that I can't even begin to understand...), Mom decided to have Mamaw's kitchen and bathrooms renovated. They look really nice and updated now, but there was dust everywhere, knick-knacks and dishes and cookware to be put back into cabinets, curtains to be hung, and bags to fill with items that would be better off at Goodwill. So Matt, Mom and I got to work and spent the whole day getting Mamaw's house back in order.
In the process, we came across many items of interest...particularly this:
A cardboard cut-out picture of Mamaw when she was about 20 years old. Papaw kept this in his plane during WWII. During one of their missions, his plane was hit and in the process of going down, the picture flew out and tumbled into a field. Once Papaw was on the ground with his fellow crew members - none were hurt - they all scoured the field until they found Mamaw's picture. How's that for love?! All these men abandoning their crashed airplane to look for a picture. Mamaw sure was a looker in those days. Here she is now, at 86 years old.
The rest of the weekend was spent having dinner and drinks with friends, chatting out on the almost-finished "new" deck, lounging around reading the newspaper and clipping coupons, playing and just
being. Ava was feeling better and the weekend ended on the bright side!
