I will spare anyone who reads this, the details. They are forever etched into my memory, so I'll just leave it simple. Declan was stressed, anxious, scared, any of the aforementioned. He talked about his fears, started chewing his lips (classic stressed Declan move) and then it all moved to his stomach. Let's just say he was "backed up" and that's putting it lightly.
As the days passed, it became noticeable that his stomach was hurting. We tried many methods to move him along, none of which worked. By day seven he was in the doctor's office and we were told different methods, all of which we already knew, to try to get him to go. By that night he was in pain. I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I had spent the previous two days and all night up with him. Up as in literally, up. He was only comfortable and okay in my arms, me standing, his arms wrapped tightly around my neck, butt out in the air, moaning in discomfort. Ryan and the girls had gone to out to dinner to celebrate grandpa's birthday and I stayed home with a very miserable little boy. I called mom and broke into tears because I didn't think I could make it through another day. I knew I didn't want him to have to make it through another day like that either. Mom came to my rescue, Declan got worse as the night went on, and we were really worried. I actually called Ryan and asked him and his mom to come back with an enema to give him because he was in so much pain. Sparing the details, as Ryan and his mom pulled in the driveway, the heavens opened up and Declan was relieved (sans enema!).
All I thought about during those days where I was watching him in pain and being unsure of what to do, was parents who have to deal with this everyday, but worse. To me, it was bad because it was my baby. I can't imagine those that have to wake up every morning and watch their child in pain, or suffering, or worrying about when they will get better. I was humbled after this past week and very thankful. There were moments where mom, Declan, and I were all on the bathroom floor trying to calm him down, when he would grab me around the neck and through tears mumble out "help me, mommy, make me not hurt anymore." All I could do was cry, hold him, and cry. Tell him it would be okay, he would be better soon, and hold him tighter. He told me he hated this house, he wanted to leave. He wanted to be better, he hated being sick. Take my heart and twist it, then turn it around and twist the other direction. It was tough. But that night at midnight, after he felt SO much better, he hugged and kissed me repeatedly, telling me how much he loves me and me telling him back. We laid in bed and snuggled, made up for all the meals he had missed, and watched the ladybug that his daddy found for him as a "good luck" sign. That night, you would never have seen a bunch of looney adults so ecstatic about a kid's poop.
Earlier in the week Ryan took Declan to the dollar store (Declan's most favorite place in the entire world, mind you) to pick out something--totally as a bribe for trying to successfully use the bathroom. They got some silly string, which the kids had never done before and it was held hostage for the moment that Declan 'got it all out.' The expulsion of the silly string was a pretty nice metaphor for the moment and Declan was pretty much obssessed. I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty sure those two have been back to the old DG just a few more times for a few more cans of the silly bands, as Declan calls it. Then, when Declan successfully ate three prunes, drank his vitamin drink, and ate a baby food jar of prunes and apples, and only minutes later was able to find relief from his still messed up system, Ryan took the kids out for another little celebration, this time for a little bonfire. Ryan's pretty famous for starting something and having no idea if he can actually follow through. For example: "Kids, let go build a fire. Fun, fun. Oh, let's go ask mommy for marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers. Won't that be fun?" And not one of those items exist in our house. He could build a fire, yes, but no deliverance on the smores front. I did scrounge up a unopened bag of mini marshmallows from an unknown date, and that worked for them. All they really wanted to do was put them on the stick and play in the fire anyway.
Except Quinn. She pretty much just wanted to stuff her face with marshmallows.
So tonight, because Ryan then gets excited and decides to be more prepared, we had a repeat performance. We invited Kelly, Taylor and Eleanor over and Ryan made the fire bigger than a tennis ball this time, and we made some real deal smores. And yes, the kids mostly wanted to play with their marshmallows in the fire. And yes, the adults ate too many smores and all wanted to puke, vowing to never again eat another smore. I'm just now coming down from my sugar rush and am shocked that our kids actually fell asleep tonight.
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