Thursday, 26 January 2012

The Tenth Circle of Hell

For a long time, I was certain that there was a tenth circle of hell, and it was located on Stavanger Drive on a Saturday. However, I have recently discovered that this is not so. 

The tenth circle is in fact located here, in my living room, lurking within my six month old who is cutting four teeth, has an ear infection, a bad cold, and to top it all off, diarrhea. 

I have spent the past 6 months bragging to my friends about what a perfect and amazing child I have. She has been sleeping through the night since she was 10 weeks old (and in 4 and 5 hour stretches since about 3 weeks), she does not fear strangers, she smiles at old ladies in the supermarket, and she has the sweetest little belly laugh my ears have ever had the pleasure of hearing. 

A couple of weeks ago, however, and at my nephew's birthday party, no less, a sort of demon emerged. This demon was fussy, crying, arching her back, kicking, spinning her head around, and projectile vomiting green bile all across the bowling alley. Finally it got so bad that Brad and I had to take her home and call a priest.

Little did I know, this was only the beginning. 

That night, the demon had the nerve to awaken at 2:40 am, and then scream and speak in tongues until 6:30 when she finally dozed off. She then proceeded to sleep only in 20 minute intervals with screams in between until 8, when she finally slept until 10. 

By 10 I was certain that Ashton Kutcher was going to poke his head in my living room any minute, laughing and clapping with a camera crew at his heels to tell me that I've been Punk'd. 

When he never showed up by 10:30 I called my family doctor. This was bullshit. 

Sure enough the little demon had some redness located in her left horn and needed to be put on a 7 day strain of holy water/antibiotics. Excellent. Problem solved. I knew she had to be that crazy for a reason. 

Next came the exorcism. 

Apparently, the only way that a child can expel a demon such as a cold/ear infection is through their assholes. Avery proceeded to have rectal explosions 4 to 5 times a day for the following seven days. There was shit everywhere. 

There was shit up her back, up her front, all over her sweet little outfits, in her tub, in our bed, and once, under my fingernail. I have never done so much laundry in my life. How many ass goblins could be hiding in that little bummy of hers? 

Not only did she shit all over her things, she shit all over the city. She shit up her back at the grocery store, the mall, my friend's house, and even at the hair salon. 

Brad and I found ourselves going through the five stages of grief. 

Denial - She's not going to shit any more today. She can't. There's no way. There can't be anything left in her. This is definitely the last explosion. Definitely. 

Anger - Are you effing kidding me? A 6 month old with diarrhea? This is bullshit! 

Bargaining - Dear God, if you make her stop shitting, we will go to church every day. We will sponsor an entire African village, and between my nursing background and Brad's microbiology background, we will dedicate our lives to finding a cure for diarrhea!

Depression - Why is this happening to us? It's because I had such a good pregnancy and delivery isn't it? The other shoe has finally dropped, wahh wahh

Acceptance - Put that diaper on tighter. She's going to blow again, I know it. No, wait, put two on her. I'll call the hospital and see if we can get some adult ones. Her ass can not be contained by any Huggie this side of the Rockies. 

Avery did get better after the 7 days, but Brad and I are still shell shocked from our experience. Every time she farts we tuck and roll, and Brad is still having night terrors. We are looking into counselling as well as talking to contractors and clothing companies about covering everything in our house and all of our clothing in rubber, which is easier to sanitize and can be wiped with a Lysol disinfectant wipe.  

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