Bad

Not like Michael Jackson, Bad, even worse, like Weird Al. Mom probably notified you already, but Amelia went to the hospital on Saturday. Everything we did for her only helped a little bit. She was still having retractions when breathing (where the stomach pokes out and the lungs suck in). She was gasping for air and her head was bobbing when she breathes.

The doctor was becoming concerned that the effort she was expending to just keep breathing was causing her to become fatigued. I had to agree, because I felt it myself. For a while there she was having coughing fits every five minutes, which makes sleeping, or even resting, nearly impossible. So they put her into the ICU. Even there the treatment has been only minimal help. Still, we've done everything we can do. The rest is up to her. Her little body has to do what Heavenly Father designed it to, heal. She will fight with miraculous might and be just fine.

Still, I am a wrick--see what I mean? I don't like this one bit. Not only is there the horribleness of watching your perfect little one suffer, but the emotions are amplified by exhaustion. To the next level of misery, I have the same thing they have. I don't complain much, and even when things are bad I put a good face on it, but this is crap. Crappy crap.

Mike and I changed shifts last night, though, so I have been home all night. Anastasia must be lonely or worried or something, because she would not sleep, not even on my chest like they ususally do when they are gassy or restless.

I remembered this morning that Andrew had told me on Saturday morning that his Famous American project was due today, so I made a stovepipe hat and a beard out of black construction paper and gave Andrew his black suit jacket so that he could be in the parade and asked the teacher for extra time to do the rest of the project.

When I mentioned Andrew's project, Isaac said, oh yeah, my personal history project for Language Arts (when did "English" become not good enough?) was also due today. He said he had everything printed out and ready, having done it "at school" (which concerns me) and that all he needed was 10 pictures. Fortunately he is the first kid, and I did manage to find that many, though I had to steal a couple, from the only photo albums I could find.

Apparently the talent show is today for Isaac as well, and he needs a CD to sing to. I guess I'd better get that together for him, since that is why I turned the computer on in the first place. Then, maybe I can get some rest this morning.