Falling of the wagon

        So, we have fallen off the wagon, so to speak.  Feisty Pants has been in the hospital all week. Sigh... It always sucks.  I shouldn't bitch too much.  She wasn't transferred out of town.   She never stopped breathing. There were only two IV placements. It was simple in and out type of deal. A few days on an IV antibiotic and home to finish recuperating.  I am grateful.  We have some scary, scary episodes. This was NOT one of them.

        But, sigh, it never gets easier.   It never gets easier holding her hands while she cries as they stick with her needles.  It is never fun, hearing her beg to go home.  I hate not being able to pick her up or have her sit on my lap because there are too many tubes and wires tying my child to the hospital bed.  I can never get the sound of my youngest and more vulnerable child saying "please stop, please stop" to some medical procedure she hates out of my head or soul.  And, I don't even have the luxury of resenting those who do this to her.  They are, for the most part, dedicated professionals who take great pride and great care in giving top notch medical care to children.  And, trust me, nobody, not even the jackasses, goes into pediatrics for the money or their ego.  When we hit the ER this week, we had nurses, therapists and phlebotomists from all over the hospital swinging by to see "our girl"  and make sure she was getting good care. 

         And now we are home.  In time for my in-laws  early Christmas celebration this weekend.  In time to try to finish our gift making binge.  In time to try to run a marathon of finishing for the holiday.  And to let Fiesty Pants' bruises from the needles heal.  And to let her lungs finish healing (it was pneumonia, probably viral to start -viruses just kick her butt)  And mostly, in her mind, to give her one good day of snuggling on her father's lap watching whatever the hell she wants to because she has damn well earned the right to monopolize the tv tonight.  (It's apparently going to be a Cops, Bigfoot, Dr. Who kinda night.)

         So, in case you ever wonder why we spoil our feisty ones.  In case you ever wonder why we seem to be raising little Bond villains.  In case you wonder why we let them get away with some crap we would not tolerate from anybody else for even one moment.  It is because we watch our very vulnerable children go through a million little hellish moments of one kind or another.  Often, one right after the other.  And when we finally get to leave, they look their torturers right in the eye and say "thank you" for their help.  It all just seems so damn unfair, you want something to go their way for a change.