Tyler: Still missing you.
Thursday night is harder. The house feels different without Tyler's presence in it, a specific quiet that isn't peaceful, just absent. I make dinner for myself, feed Harper her puréed vegetables, and do bedtime alone. She goes down fine, but I find myself checking my phone more than I need to.
Tyler: The hotel room sucks. I wish I were home.
Me: You have a game tomorrow. Focus.
Tyler: I’d rather focus on you.
I fall asleep on the couch, the baby monitor beside me.
Friday starts normally. Harper is fussy during breakfast, not eating as much, but I figure she's just off because Tyler's gone. We play on the floor, and when I pick her up around two o'clock, I notice she's warmer than usual.
I take her temperature.
100.2.
Not terrible, but not nothing either. I grab my phone and firea text to Tyler.
Me: Harper's running a low fever. 100.2. Keeping an eye on it.
Tyler: What? Is she okay? Should you call the doctor?
Me: It's low. She’s probably teething.
Tyler: Keep me updated. Please.
By evening, Harper's fever has climbed to 101.8, and she's crying inconsolably. Nothing helps, not rocking, not singing, not her favorite toys. And then she throws up.
All over herself, all over me, all over the living room rug.
"Okay," I say, very calmly, even though my heart is racing. "Okay, sweetheart. Let's get you sorted."
I call the pediatrician's after-hours line while stripping Harper out of her soiled clothes. The nurse asks about fever, vomiting, how long it lasted, and if she’s had any diarrhea; her conclusion is a stomach bug.
As soon as she finishes giving me advice, I text Tyler.
Me: Stomach bug confirmed. Thrown up twice. Fever at 101.8. The pediatrician says to monitor and keep her hydrated.
Tyler: I’m coming home.
Me: You have a game tomorrow.
Tyler: I don't care. Harper's sick.
Me: Tyler, I've got this. She's okay. It's just a bug.
Tyler: You shouldn't have to do this alone.
Me: I’m not alone. I have you on the phone. Now stop panicking and focus on your game.
Friday night is rough.
Harper wakes every hour, either throwing up or dealing with diarrhea, sometimes both. I'm doing laundry constantly, changing sheets, and trying to get her to take sips of Pedialyte. She's miserable, crying weakly, her little body hot against mine.
I text Tyler updates through the night.
Me: She threw up again. Fever holding at 101.5.