Bummer of a fourth, and Finley's first ER trip

The fourth of July is probably my favorite holiday, and I was pretty excited about Finley's first one. I was also excited to be able to drink beer and stay up late enough to enjoy fireworks- last year I had been pregnant with Finley and had missed having a beer with my apple pie and nearly fallen asleep during the fireworks. We had big plans to take Finley to a parade and a minor league baseball game for fireworks and some Americana, and we couldn't wait for her to taste her first apple pie.

 

But the best laid plans... 

Before our holiday weekend went south, Seth and I did squeeze in a lovely Thursday before the long weekend, overcoming working-parent guilt enough to drop Finley off for a couple hours on a day off and go for a lunch-and-kayaking date.

But that's where our luck ended. I left Seth fishing on the river and went to pick up Finley. He showed up at the door a couple hours later, soaked from head to toe and down a fishing pole, a cell phone, and his entire wallet. (For anyone counting, that makes three of Seth's phones claimed by the Potomac in the past year.)

Then Friday night- after a nice family day running errands and taking Finley to see her Dad at shotput practice- Finley starting projectile vomiting. Which kept up, along with a low grade fever and general malaise and misery, through our poor baby's first Fourth. (We did manage a cute neighborhood parade and some pooltime, but otherwise she spent Independence Day like this.) 

 By Sunday morning we had determined that Finley's stomach issues (which by then had moved south) were not attributable to all the guacamole she had sampled at Whole Foods (one of our favorite, if not cheapest, family outings), and resigned ourselves to spending the remainder of our long weekend in the emergency room. She was listless and dehydrated and- maybe saddest of all- totally uninterested in food.

We eventually survived Finley's first ER trip, including a seriously traumatic IV stick, with the help of Sheriff Callie on the iPad- and dragged our way home, stopping for takeout because we know when we're beat. We felt terrible scarfing burgers without our food-loving Finley.

She's still fussy and feverish and up all night, and I'm slogging through my last week of work before the Pentagon move, while Seth gets ready to head to throwing camp and then West Point for a few days. We're all dragging a$$ this week, and more than a little bummed about our long weekend.

Better luck next year on that beer-and-pie thing.

The silver lining of such a miserable week is the deep, deep appreciation for one's partner that solidifies over a sick baby and a lot of sleepless nights. Seth cancelled his plans to stay home with Finley Monday, for which I was beyond grateful. Sick Finley definitely got the best of him: the first question I asked him when I got in the door that night was "are you doing OK?"

He looked at me tiredly and replied, "no."

What a champ of a Dad.

Ana took one for the team too, and watched her alone yesterday so I could work (and was, no joke, driven to drink by a long day with a needy Finley!) She still took her to the park for her first ride in the swings and  Finley was, of course, a total pro- and cracked a couple of real smiles for the first time in days.

 Even sick and miserable, our sweet beast has her moments. Bathtime the other night was one of them.

Oh, and I got my first-ever PCS award at work, which helped it all sink in: I'm leaving after two years here, and starting a new job next Wednesday! Yikes.