When Chas and Sam were about nearly-three and four-ish, and Max was just sitting and scooting, they all played in a river on a sandy beach and Chas and Sam got extremely sick from a bacteria in the water. Max was still very much breastfed, which was a good thing because I am not sure he would have survived that bacteria at that age.
Chas and Sam threw up for four days and nights. They even threw up on Max, because we were all in the same bed for ease of caretaking. They certainly threw up on me, in that snuggly "I don't feel so... Bleeeuuuurgh!" way that kids who have never thrown up before have. It was a totally new experience for all of us: the boys weren't even very spitty babies, and had no idea how to tell that they were about to chuck up.
I made jell-o popsicles for them to suck, and fed them chipped ice and water and rehydrating fluids and broth by the teaspoonful. Chas and Sam grew thinner and thinner till I could see their backbones and elbow bones and shoulder blades and cheek-hollows. I worried and didn't sleep a wink for days.
Max did not get sick. On doctor's orders, I increased his breastfeeding time and slightly decreased his solids. I got thinner. Max was the only one of us getting fatter by the minute. I was so impressed by the bacteria-destroying powers of breastmilk, that I asked Chas if he would like to nurse. No way. That was for babies. Eew.
I asked Sam, who was younger and could remember breastfeeding. He nodded weakly, and pulled up my shirt. Then he changed his mind. I asked, "how about if I pump some for you?" I could put it in a cup?
We have friends who grow heliconias and other beautiful flowers, and they irrigate them with huge pumps that spray thousands of gallons of water way into the air. Sam sat straight up, looked at me with huge eyes and said with awe, "are you going to use uncle Erle's pumps??!"
I'm sure there is still an image in his subconscious, of himself running and dancing with mouth open to catch the drops, through a flower garden with breastmilk falling all around. Bliss!
Chas and Sam threw up for four days and nights. They even threw up on Max, because we were all in the same bed for ease of caretaking. They certainly threw up on me, in that snuggly "I don't feel so... Bleeeuuuurgh!" way that kids who have never thrown up before have. It was a totally new experience for all of us: the boys weren't even very spitty babies, and had no idea how to tell that they were about to chuck up.
I made jell-o popsicles for them to suck, and fed them chipped ice and water and rehydrating fluids and broth by the teaspoonful. Chas and Sam grew thinner and thinner till I could see their backbones and elbow bones and shoulder blades and cheek-hollows. I worried and didn't sleep a wink for days.
Max did not get sick. On doctor's orders, I increased his breastfeeding time and slightly decreased his solids. I got thinner. Max was the only one of us getting fatter by the minute. I was so impressed by the bacteria-destroying powers of breastmilk, that I asked Chas if he would like to nurse. No way. That was for babies. Eew.
I asked Sam, who was younger and could remember breastfeeding. He nodded weakly, and pulled up my shirt. Then he changed his mind. I asked, "how about if I pump some for you?" I could put it in a cup?
We have friends who grow heliconias and other beautiful flowers, and they irrigate them with huge pumps that spray thousands of gallons of water way into the air. Sam sat straight up, looked at me with huge eyes and said with awe, "are you going to use uncle Erle's pumps??!"
I'm sure there is still an image in his subconscious, of himself running and dancing with mouth open to catch the drops, through a flower garden with breastmilk falling all around. Bliss!
Comments
A lovely post!