Really?

Wow. That's all I have to say about my weekend.

Ok, maybe I have a little more to say.

We left late Thursday night to head up north for a dear friend's wedding. We thought we'd drive through the night so Wiggle Man could sleep. Not so much. He started vomited about 3 miles into the trip. And continued for the entire 8 hours, sleeping occasionally, only to wake up and vomit again.

I stopped changing his jammies after the third pair. Is that wrong? I only had 5 pair with me.

Since he stopped once we got to the hotel, we figured all was well. Friday he ate well during the day, and seemed ok, for the most part. Until the rehearsal dinner when he vomited all over the kitchen.

Hubba Hubba took him back to the hotel, so I could continue my bridesmaid duties. While I ran around doing last minute things, having last minute talks over Muddy Buddies (YUM!) Wiggle Man apparently continued to vomit, even while he was sleeping. Hubba Hubba broke down and called me just after midnight, suggesting we should take Wiggle Man to the ER.

You know, because my kid has never really been sick, it only makes sense that his first trip to the hospital should occur hours away from home.

Well, they ended up admitting him and putting him on IV fluids for the rest of the night, and all day Saturday. I had to leave him to go to the wedding (which I was ok doing since by that point they told us he was fine, just needed to re-hydrate) and was able to enjoy most of my day, with only occasional moments of break down on my part. The wedding was perfect, my friend was gorgeous, and Wiggle Man was released shortly after I got back to the hospital Saturday night.

I got some funny looks on the way into the hospital. Apparently most people don't go to the hospital in formal wear.

Number Eighty

In case you were expecting something profound having to do with the number 80, I'll let you know right now--this is my 80th post. When I first started blogging, I couldn't imagine that I'd have enough things to say to warrant that much writing. It turns out Wiggle Man always has plenty of new material.

Like how the other day, as I was getting ready to play in a recital. I'm a flutist, and I find that I need a good hour warming up on the instrument before I sound ok enough to perform. (This is my post-college warm-up. Back in the days of playing all day every day, I naturally required much less warm-up time.)

About half-way through my marathon warm up, Hubba Hubba walked in the room, carrying our son. He looked at me and said, "I think he's doing you." I didn't get what he was saying at first, until I realised Wiggle Man had a rubber stick in his mouth transversely, like you'd hold a flute. Apparently he'd been walking around like that, holding it like I hold my flute, and humming.

I'm a strong advocate for boys playing the flute. It's a great way for them to meet girls. Although, I still want him to learn the cello. Or at least go to enough Suzuki classes when he's 3 so that I can get adorable pictures of him playing his mini-cello.

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This morning I'm off for a dress fitting. Nothing like someone else measuring and analysing your body to lift the spirits.

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We're still waiting for paperwork from Kenya. The only new thing to report is that now they're saying they've emailed it. We still don't have it, of course. At least, not that anyone's told us.

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Since I can smell my son from where I sit, it's probably time to go change him.

I Forgot to Title This...That's How Crazy It Is Here!

Sorry I haven't posted in a week--it's been absolutely insane here. Good insane. Fun insane. But insane nonetheless. It's been a week of family gatherings, which are always fun and always food-filled.

We're also in our last week of rehearsals for Children of Eden, which means late nights. Thankfully Wiggle Man has been sleeping well this week, or I might look like The Angel of Wrath rather than The Angel of Forgiveness, which is my part in the production. I learned last night it's very hard to look powerfully angelic for 3.5 hours.

I also had the somewhat discouraging experience of bridesmaid dress shopping yesterday. Don't misunderstand me--I love being a bridesmaid. I love the dresses we're considering, which not always a given, as many of you know. I'm not complaining about the cost--they're pretty reasonable for the dresses we're getting. Even the colour is beautiful.

The problem? Bridesmaids dress makers have an elaborate plot to make me feel fat. The size dress I will have to buy is TEN sizes bigger than my actual dress size. Now, I knew this going in. I've done this four times before, for heaven's sake. Only once have I ever had a bridesmaid dress that was my actual dress size. Every other one has been 8-10 sizes bigger than my actual size. Does anyone know why this is necessary?

At any rate, we consoled ourselves in true female fashion by going out to lunch. And not ordering the salad.