Week 50

Ava is 50 weeks old

Ava is 50 weeks old

We took this little sweetie-pop on her first game reserve holiday this past week (which is why this post is a bit overdue). We all had a great time – Ava loved watching the giraffe ambling right past the window, and stared at the baby warthogs scratching around on the side of the road for ages – until she started projectile vomiting on the second day of the trip.

After 24 hours of her not eating or drinking a single thing and puking intermittently, we drove her to the nearest hospital, an hour away. We waited in the ER queue for a few minutes until Ava projectile puked all over me – for the third time that morning, the first time being in the lobby of the fancy lodge we were checking into (hugely embarrassing and I felt terrible about the lovely furniture) and the second being in the car once I’d changed into fresh clothes: the result of the ER puke was that I spent the rest of the day in a dress that was vomit-stained and vomit-smelling; and the way I could tell how serious the whole situation was, was that I couldn’t have cared less what I looked or smelled like – and then were ushered into a ward immediately. So that’s one way to see an ER doctor really quickly – get your baby to vomit everywhere.

The nice doctor there thought she looked like she had a throat and ear infection, which might have been why she felt so nauseous, so he prescribed antibiotics and anti-nausea pills. The pills kicked in very quickly, luckily, so there were no more projectile incidents.

But now it’s five days since she first got sick, and we’re home, and, though she’s not vomiting, she not retaining anything (changing nappies has never been less fun) and she still hasn’t eaten one. single. thing. The only thing she will drink is a little bit of formula and flat, diluted Coke. I never thought I’d put Coke in her bottle, ever – but it’s really the only thing she wants to drink. And considering she’s lost so much weight in the past few days that her little leggings and nappies are loose on her, I’m not too concerned about how much sugar she’s getting. I do make sure that we brush her teeth, like, four times a day now though!

Apparently her antibiotics could be to blame for her dodgy tummy and nausea (even though she’s taking probiotics too), and she’s still got another five days to go on the course. I can’t imagine her not eating anything for another five days, or being as unhappy and uncomfortable as she’s been.

Having a baby is hard in a lot of ways, but the past two weeks, with Ava being injured and violently ill, have been the hardest two weeks in my entire life. I can’t think about anything other than wishing she would just get better. Every time she turns her face away from food or her bottle, I am filled with fear. What if she never gets better? What if this is how she’ll be forever? Or even the next month? Or the next week?

And, as is typical of our luck recently, this is a long weekend, so we won’t get to see a doctor for another two days. Unless, of course, I take her to our local ER – I can’t decide whether or not I would want her to use her projectile tactics to help us jump the queue.

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