My poor, sick Kyra has made a complete and full recovery thanks, in part, to the amazing Pedialyte fairy who, is in fact, a man.
I kid you not.
Though, truth be told, he was asked by his lovely and beautiful fairy wife to pick some up and then drop it off.
It took me a full day to convince Kyra to drink a single glass. She was not having much of anything, come Thursday. She laid around in bed reading her book, listening to another book on audio-something-er-other, napping and refusing to eat or drink most of what I offered.
And I can't say I blame her.
She spent most of the previous night on a pallet in the bathroom floor because the virus struck her so violently and furiously, the poor child didn't have a fighting chance. At one point, one of many where she threw up on one piece of her pallet or another (thank you to the Heavens Above I am not lacking in sheets and blankets), she was apologizing for making another mess, saying she was so weak she couldn't sit up in time. By 2 in the morning she was stripping her clothes because she was so hot, her temperature was slightly up. By 4 in the morning, she was fully clothed again and shivering, her temperature was back to normal. She had managed to make it two solid hours without vomiting again and wanted me to tuck her into bed, she didn't feel like she needed to throw up anymore.
So, yes, Thursday was a necessary recovery day, indeed.
Friday we frolicked around town, running errands, everyone finally a picture of perfect health. Saturday we were up, dressed and out of the door in time for ice skating when, a half hour in, I felt immediately sick.
For the last half hour of ice skating, I was willing myself not to be sick. I couldn't be sick. Single mothers are. not. allowed. to be sick. And still, I drove through every deserted red light, ran every stop sign so I could make it home in time to puke in my own bathroom. I pulled in the drive, flung myself from the truck and dashed through the house while the girls were all still strapped into their seats, none the wiser.
After gathering the kids inside, I quickly told Kyra I needed her to take care of everyone for me. I'd make her a bottle for Ruby and she can find whatever she can make for Lydia and herself to eat and please, please, Mommy needs to go to bed so I can get better.
Kyra came through like a rock star.
Ruby wouldn't take a bottle from Kyra, though, so I ended up having only to pry myself away from my sick bed (or toilet) to feed, change and put Ruby to bed from time to time. From 10:30 in the morning, until 5 in the evening, I was completely useless as a parent for my children.
But Kyra? She was a rock star.
She's the kind of kid you want on your side when you're lying and dying in a gutter. She'll feed and entertain the masses to the best of her ability with not a single complaint to be had.
Didn't I tell you? Rock. Star.
Now it's time to wait and pray this nasty bug doesn't strike Ruby. It was hard watching Lydia, who was a mild case in comparison to Kyra. Kyra was brutal to watch. But Ruby, with her infant immune system, no thank you. I don't even want to imagine such a thing.
So I'm praying, from now until Wednesday. The virus took four days to migrate from Lydia to Kyra, and three more days to migrate to me. If we can make it to Wednesday, I'll breathe my sigh of relief. Until then, Dear God, ...