Late Monday afternoon, at Dr. Hot's office, he looked at my wilting daughter and said that he thought an IV might be in order, since she was unable to keep anything down. It had been three whole days.

I stood there with one hand on my four year old, who was attempting to make a hasty exit from the exam room, and my two year old in the leopard print sling, arching her back and trying to eject herself head first onto the floor. I swallowed hard, told the good doctor that I would sit up all night, trying to hydrate my daughter, and we would return in the morning for an IV if things didn't improve.

Back at home, I held my heaving daughter through the night, forcing sips of pedialyte and making repeated trips to the sink for cool cloths and to rinse the big bowl. By dawn, I had already discussed the IV with my girl, and while she was fearful, she was limp and just wanted to feel better.

The hubs was shaking and feverish, but hey, I handle the kids no matter the weather, so I left the two other houligans home with my sick-as-a-dog husband and drove to the pediatric office. Really, his timing was great, because had he been healthy, he *had* to go to the office to see the big-wigs. Glass half full! After a quick check, and a couple of chest xrays, we were put in "the procedure room" for the IV.

After my daughter demonstrated that what little fight she had left was going to focus on keeping that *^#%&% needle away from her arm, I helped two nurses to swaddle her in a blanket, and held her on my lap, while they got the IV in place. She sobbed into my chest, while they worked. Mercifully, they got it on the first try, and the tears subsided quickly.

After drawing some blood for tests, they got the drip going, and I found myself sitting in a wooden glider chair, holding my swaddled daughter, for the first time since she was an infant. Her six year old face is full of angles, not the soft, round, puppy folds of her baby face. Her head rested on my shoulder and her feet dangled a few inches above the floor, and I marvelled at the sheer size of her. I felt like I was rocking Baby Huey.

She refused to lay on the bed. She wanted to be held, and I gladly sat in the rocker, heels keeping a rhythm, while my right arm, left leg, and entire butt went numb. I rested my cheek on her hair, and I swear her scalp still smells the same as when she was a baby. Not quite the newborn smell, but...her unique smell - I would know it anywhere.

Although it was hard, initally, once we settled in and then nurses and their questions went away, we just rocked. My girl dozed, then lay quietly alert in my arms, eyes searching my face or scanning the far wall. It was so similar to her infant times when she would just chill after a big nursing session, it was eerie.

The nurses kept asking if I wanted to read, if I wanted to watch TV, if I wanted to eat or drink...I just wanted to hold my girl and be quiet. The clicking and sighing of the IV was hypnotic, and I simply sat and squeezed drops of good out of the situation. I had nothing to do but snuggle my girl. I had peace and quiet, and could think deep thoughts (if I had wanted to. I didn't have a single deep thought that I can recall.) My daughter would leave there that afternoon, rested and hydrated.

For four hours we sat there. They gave her two bags of fluids. The last 20 minutes, she chose to lay on the bed, and I stood next to her, pins and needles (or as she says, scissors and paper clips, hah!) up and down my lower half. Suddenly my Baby Huey looked tiny and pathetic. The sight of my kiddo in a hospital bed made me tear up. And we were leaving in just a few short minutes. I hope I never have to see that again.

Another facet of our time in "the procedure room" was the opportunity to appreciate my lack of adult employment. The nurses took turns gossiping and sharing WAY TMI while I was sitting behind a curtain. In the five hours I was there, I learned which nurse was considered to be a bossy pain in the rump, which one had just ended a terrible relationship, who was on leave and why, what the course of treatment was for a cancer ridden cat, how long one nurse had been on antibiotics and the cost and availability of yeast infection treatments in the downstairs pharmacy. I heard about their workouts at their gyms, and their weekend plans. I witnessed to cold shoulders given to each other when the bossy nurse came back.

Wow. It was like being back in every workplace I've ever had. Backbiting, gossiping, and TMI. Sigh.

Luckily, it was not overly distracting... just added to my list of good reminders that I squeezed out of a limp dishrag of a day.

We're back at home, and she's much better today. I'm hoping that she continues to improve.

Ahem. Parenting Gods? I'm done, mofos. Get off me.