The Strong Stuff. . .

Well after a boring March break, Gil and I succumbed to the dreaded flu. No thankfully not the bird flu that kills, just the regular kind that incapacitates you and wreaks havoc on the body. It seemed to hit us adults harder and it lasted longer than when the children had it, which is strange since usually the flu has the opposite effect, but it started with me and then hit Gil and so we began to walk around hacking and hacking with a cough that would not quit. Maybe we were so worn out taking care of the children but it just seemed to linger until more serious infections developed, something that didn't happen with the children.

Gil developed an ear infection and I developed pneumonia. So off to the local clinic we went for some anti-biotics. Still running on very little sleep, having spent a week getting up in the night with the kids, each in turn and then unable to sleep because of my wonderful but hacking hubby, I had begun to look like the walking dead (not just feel like it). When it was my turn to see the friendly physician the concern on his face was quite evident. He expresed his dismay upon listening to my fluid filled lungs, and then proceeded to tell me how worn out I looked. Then when he was prescribing the needed medication, he added that he was also giving me a prescription for a stronger cough supressent so that I could get some sleep. The pharmacist too looked appalled at my condition and added that this was the really strong stuff, the good kind that will really knock you off your feet and allow you to finally stop coughing and get some rest.

So that night when we were finally able to try to sleep at the wee hours of midnight we took our medication (I gave some of the strong stuff to Gil so that we could both get a good night sleep), and the mayham began.

First it was Christopher up in the night wining and complaining, which by the way he has not done since he was six weeks old. I tried to settle him down first to no avail, and when he still voiced his discontent Gil proceeded to take a turn. However no amount of tempra, or burping, or rocking, or cooing, would do the trick so I relented. He must be having a growth spurt and therefore was hungry so I agreed to feed the rascal.

At this time it was 3:00 am, and on my way downstairs to make the infants bottle, I pass Dickens the Cat. This devious trouble-maker has been known to jump at feet (especially mine), so I stepped leerily away from him and thought to my self, "that's odd he looks like he has a floppy mouse in his mouth", ah and so he did. Gil had to be roused and dispatched to spend the next half hour chasing the mouser down to retrive the now dead mouse and dispose of it elsewhere.

I who at this point am still feeding the boy-child say good-night again to the cat chaser who goes off to bed, while the cat a little peeved at losing his toy begins to lament in the form of a low gutteral howl the fact that his fun has been tossed away. After fifteen minutes he settles down and then I say to my self "I think I hear Elizabeth screaming for her life upstairs" and once again I was correct. I hear Elizabeth screaming for her life upstairs, however the strong stuff must have hit Gil because although the blood-curdling screams have awoken and sufficently scared the entire household, and perhpas even the neighbourhood, he is not waking up.

Here I am downstairs in the dark trying to preserve a quiet dark atmosphere so that said boy-child will be able to fall right back asleep after he partakes of his late night snack, and Gil shirking his parental role by of all things SLEEPING. (Just because he had a horrible flu but, been up with the kids every night for two weeks, and had just taken a dose of very strong cough supressant---Geesh!) We hollared, howled and bellowed but to no avail, this only succeeded in waking Christopher up more and so finally my eldest girl climbs out of her top-bunk, stomps into our room, and shakes her father back to conciousness. I hear him lumber into the girls room his footsteps echoing his frusteration, he quiets the screaming girl down and returns to bed.

Christopher has eaten and now is wide awake wanting to play, but I am exhausted so I tuck him into his crib awake and hope he'll settle down now that his tummy is full.

A half hour later, finally I begin to drift off to sleep, my heart has stopped galloping, my head is beginning that dreamy transcendence into unconscienceness when low and behold another screaming child!!!!!! My heart attempts to leap right out of my poor sick body, where it wanted to reside I don't know, but since I am trying to breathe again I wake up poor sick Gil, who once again goes on consolation duty, Christopher awakes with his sisters deafening screaming and begins to babble like Daffy Duck; although the sound normally would be endearing it is now five a.m. and we are both aware that in less that two hours this day will start again. So relunctantly I make the decision to turn the monitor off trusting that if my son really needs me, I will hear him. As Gil returns to our cozy bed for the umpteenth time that night I say to him, "It really doesn't matter how strong the strong stuff is when you have four kids does it?"