Christmas in Red and Green

Ah, Christmas.

It was wonderful.  Oliver has learned the fine art of rrrrrrripping gift wrap open, and with each new present, he squealed as if to say, "oh, my, GOSH! I have been wanting this like soooooo bad!  I want to play with it, now, now, now, now!"  He ran from instruments to books to balls to slinkys, and it wasn't long until the walls reverberated with the sounds of at least seven new musical toys.  A favorite is a phone that says hello in three different languages.  Apparently we should have named Oliver "Pierre," because for hours all we heard was, "Bonjour, bonjour, bon-bon-bon-bonjour, bonjour, bon-bon-bonjour, bonjour!"

If anyone questions the increasing incidence of ADHD in our society, all they have to do is attend Christmas where there is at least one child present, or better said, one Childe Present.  I kept waiting for Oliver to have a breakdown, not being able to decide which amazingly awesome new present to play with next.  We were not helpful.  "Ollie! Look at this!  Ollie! Press the monkey button!  Ollie! Where's your new book!  Ollie!  The phone's for you! Ollie! Sit in your sled!"

But our dear son did not break down.  He threw up. Instead of sugar plums dancing in his head, sugar plums were projectile-vomited all over the pack-and-play at 2am on December 26th.  We were still in Mankato.  "Michael!" I hollered down the hall.  "Ollie's puking!"  We had an akward few moments while, disoriented from a deep, wine-induced sleep, we tried to figure out how to handle a puking toddler in someone else's home. 

"Um, bathtub, put him in that," Michael said.  Oliver sat in the dry empty tub, crying, shivering, and covered with vomit, while I fumbled through my toiletries kit for a bar of soap.  Michael bravely stripped the bedding in the pack-and-play and started a load of laundry, while we scrounged up some more blankets.  20 minutes later, the lights were off, and Ollie was asleep.  I was, too, until that unmistakeable 2-cough-then-something-coming-up-the-pipes sound woke me up.  Vomit all over.  "Miiiichaellll......"

Michael held Oliver in front of the fireplace in the family room for a while after bath #2, and I went to lay down and...not sleep.  10 minutes passed, then: cough, cough...."Kiiiirrrrrrsten....."

Usually, three times and Oliver is done, and thankfully, this was no exception.  There was no more food to be brought up.  And thankfully, laundry load 1 of 3 was done in the dryer, so Ollie went back into the Pack and Play with real sheets instead of the towel he lay in.  I lay in bed, a little nervous, but we eventually fell asleep around 3:30. 

9:30 came quickly, and I heard Oliver begin to talk to himself a few feet away in the pack and play.  He must have heard my thoughts that he was awake, because all of a sudden I saw a little blonde head pop up and smile at me.  But wait.  Something was wrong.  My glasses were off, but I thought I saw....was that blood on his face?  I squinted.  He smiled.  I put on my glasses.  Holy crap.  His face was covered in bright red, dried blood.  "Miiiichaellllll......"

We determined that there were no knives in the pack and play, and that indeed, it was a simple, yet intense nose bleed that did not go gently into the night.  Michael raised him to the mirror.

Oliver thought his bloody face was bloody funny.  That made one of us.  Blood, vomit, what was next?

Thankfully, nothing.  We're home, and Oliver has kept down one meal and a lot of pedialyte.  He's alseep in his own crib, and in about two minutes, I'll be asleep in  mine.