Karma reminded me that I was not in charge last night again. We did everything we could to ensure that Willa was fed, bathed, loved on and tucked in before 9 pm when The Office started. This is my one TV vice. When I got Willa in her crib without a fight, I was feeling might proud of team Jim and Amy.
And 45 minutes into the show when I heard her coughing, and then crying it all came crashing down. Good thing the VCR was set. Yes, VCR - we don't do the Demand/Tivo or any other fancy schmany recording of shows. This is how much we think tv is must see, I guess.
She threw up. In her crib, on the blankets, on me, on the bathroom floor.... more than once. Jim took to the couch and Willa and I hunkered down in bed together. When she wasn't coughing, she was churning next to me, like a river otter playing in the water, or a hot dog on the gas station grill. Around and around and around. Little feet digging under my back, little hand slapping my cheek.
And in a gleam of true Willa spirit, she woke up at 4 am, coughed enough for me to nervously grab "the bowl." Then she giggled and started calling for Alro to join us in bed.
So, I'm at work, and the report from nurse Jim is that she's coughing a lot less today. Hoping she didn't catch the croup - there's a sign on her daycare room door declaring that someone has been home with that this week. It's like a centuries old town with a warning on the gate that the plague was there.