Cancer Ever After

Musings on Infertility, Adoption, Cancer and Widowhood.

Ready, Set, Go

I’ve questioned whether we will truly be ready for a third because our girls will be 19 months old when the baby is born. Last night, I found my answer. Phoebe was acting off the entire day and didn’t touch her dinner. Tim and I both knew something was wrong, but put her to bed as usual since we couldn’t find a cause. We quickly dove into our new nighttime routine. Wash diapers, clean the house, fill any orders or cocoa we’ve received and load into the car for delivery. Work on our daily adoption task–whether it be a grant applications, home study paperwork, or posting in swap and shop groups to sell more items.

It took us longer than usual because we had received a large order and our previously normal bedtime of 9:30 had turned into 11:30. That’s when Phoebe started crying. Every inch of me was crying out for sleep, but as soon as we heard her we knew something was wrong. This wasn’t her nighttime cry. I went in to rock her to sleep and comfort her and she was inconsolable. Definitely not our normal Phoebe. No temperature, so I tried bouncing her the way she liked when she had colic and her stomach hurt. BINGO. She finally started crying and her exhausted eyelids began to droop.

Until she started coughing…and crying…and coughing. My little girl was in misery. I went to put her on my shoulder when the source of the problem revealed itself: full-body, rainbow-colored vomit. In my hair, my face, down my shirt, on my pants and all over her sister.

My first instinct wasn’t even to move away from it, but to comfort her.

I yelled for Tim through the baby monitor and he came running in as Hazel began crying. We were like a well-oiled machine. I dealt with Phoebe and the vomit. She thought a midnight bath was fun! Tim calmed Hazel and got her back to sleep in a vomit-free pack’n’play in our room and began detoxing the nursery. Clean the room, comfort the kid, change the sheets, do the laundry. As I bathed Phoebe, I tried to imagine a third kiddo waking up and crying in the mixture. Tim and I worked in tandem and it was seamless. I had read an online post that said if you still want another kid on the worst day, then you are ready.

I had my answer.

The five a.m. wake-up after going to bed less than four hours before didn’t even make me bat an eye. There will be tough nights, but we can handle it.



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