I'm becoming very impatient for things to get back to normal again. We're getting close, I think, but we're not quite there. Every dairy reintroduction in the kids' diets seems to cause a bit of a GI setback, and it's back to the BRAT diet again.
Not only are the disintegrating diapers, extra laundry and unexpected, but necessary showers adding extra stress to my day, I feel as though I'm watching my babies disappear before my eyes. They are looking noticeably thinner to me, so today I finally weighed them. Abby was 34.8 lbs, and Michael was 22.6. I'm not sure how much they weighed immediately prior to being struck by illness, but Abby was 36.4 lbs at her 2 year appointment, over four months ago. It appears that her height has not increased since then, so it's likely that her weight hadn't either, but I've had it in my head that she's been growing all this time, and must weigh close to 40 lbs by now, so I was pretty shocked by the numbers on the scale.
Michael should be growing at a faster rate than she is, however, and he's definitely dropped a couple of pounds. He weighed nearly 24 lbs just a few weeks ago, when we had him seen for his lingering cough (which still has not entirely disappeared).
I seem to have gained my lost weight back- and then some- which is really a good thing considering that I'm pregnant, but seeing a slightly higher number on the scale depressed me, all the same. Sadly, it did not stop me from eating five Tagalongs in one sitting again tonight, as I mentally prepped for blogging. The good news is: that was the last of the box, so I won't be repeating that transgression anytime soon.
But I, at least, have been able to resume a normal diet again. I haven't been able to keep one up with the kiddos, and I can tell that they're losing interest in the boring things they've been offered lately. Poor Abby, who was initially so infatuated with Pedialyte that she asked for it at all hours of the day, now regularly turns it down in favor of water. Yesterday, at lunch, Tom made the mistake of bringing my leftover pizza to the dining room table, which resulted in screaming fits, from both children, of epic volume. I had to retreat to the living room to eat, all while overhearing the continued whimpers and cries of my envious children.
I feel for them, and hard as I've been trying to avoid doing so, I've been falling into a bit of a "woe is me" attitude, myself. I'm 38 weeks pregnant (as of tomorrow, anyway). Can I please catch a break?