Seems there's always some sort of medical drama going on with Tate. The symptom du jour? Diarrhea. And lots. of. it. Currently, we are rounding out at day number 21. Now, am I frustrated that my little one is so pitifully sick and dehydrated and pathetically weak? Nope. I'm frustrated because after day 17, the doctors are still telling me to wait it out. I'm frustrated because he can't stay at daycare after three bad diapers and isn't welcome back the second day, causing me to shuffle my schedule at work or find someone to watch him. I'm frustrated because nothing we are doing seems to be helping. Tate, on the other hand, is happy as a clam. No fever. Perfectly hydrated. The boy has somehow managed to GAIN weight. A medical phenomenon. He's also learned rather quickly how to play the sick card. Even when it makes absolutely no sense. "Mommy!.....Mommy!! I want to brush my teeth NOW!" "No, Tate, let's wait until after your bath." "But I'M SICK!" The child is two.
We've ruled out parasites, salmonela, and e coli. Next on the agenda, allergy testing or checking for some other random gastrointestinal disorder. The doctors must love seeing us come in the door. Cha-ching!$! And meanwhile, the diapers keep filling, and filling, and filling....
