I'll skim through the morning here because it was the same as every other normal morning.
I headed off to work and Bo got Oliver ready and off to daycare (I did get to see my boy for a couple of minutes in the morning though, yeah!). Work was work, oh yeah, except for Justin who was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery to take his appendix out. Holy shit. Thankfully, he's doing really well, but he will be out of work for at least two weeks, which means I'm on my own here. Kinda like when it was just Julia and I, lol.
After work I headed home to pick up my boy, but traffic was brutal so I didn't get there until 5:20. Lindsay mentioned that Oliver still wasn't actual normal (as we told her was normal for him), and she was right. Before I even got to the car he was fussy and gearing up for a tantrum (or so I thought...little did I know, I had not yet experienced a tantrum, gulp).
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that when I talked to Bo on the phone earlier today he said that he was meeting Tony and Wilf's tonight at 7:30, hopefully earlier, to go over what needed to be done, but that he wouldn't be late, to hold dinner until he got home.
Anyway, once we were home I tried playing with Oliver but he was having absolutely none of it. He didn't want to do anything or play with anything. I'm a big fan of just going with the flow and not trying to force anything. So, I filled up his bottle and put it in the fridge, then took him upstairs to give him a bath (he was just gross from daycare, covered in food). I put him in his crib so I could go and get changed first, and while he cried for about 2 minutes, he was sleeping before I got back in to get the water running. So, I let him sleep (of course), and he had a good 30 minute power nap.
When he woke up though, he was even more upset then when he fell asleep. I had never experienced this before, I didn't recognize my own son. He just kept screaming at the top of his lungs, tears rolling down his cheeks. I got him out of his cloths and ready for the bath (which he loves), but even that couldn't stop the screaming. He just kept at it in the water, wouldn't look at his toys or splash in the water, he just kept trying to throw himself back, screaming. I don't even know how I managed because I'm pretty sure both my hands were on him, I washed his hair and scouped him out of the tub, which wasn't hard to do because he kept standing up in it.
I got him back to the change table, but still he screamed. And now, with the wall in close proximity, he just kept pushing his legs off the table to hit his head on the wall. Over and over again. I mean, it's like that scene in alien where the baby alien rips out of the chicks stomach. Oliver was that baby alien. I scooped him up again, but it didn't matter how many hugs, kisses or back rubs I gave him, he just would not stop screaming. We were approaching the thirty minute mark now. Rough.
I decide that maybe he's hurting. He didn't have anything close to a fever, but maybe his ears were just so painful and he didn't know how to say. I left the Tylenol at Lindsay's so I decided crying baby or not, I didn't care how many stares I would get in Wal-mart, it was worth bringing him there to get Tylenol and make him feel better. So, I took Oliver to my room so I could change, and put him on the floor by his toys. He wouldn't let me put him sitting, he kept throwing his head back and arching his back so I had to actually lay him on the floor. He just stayed like that, looking up at me, screaming. It was like he was paralysed, our didn't know how to move. God damn this kid is stubborn. He finally moved when I went into my closet to put my jeans back on (yeah, so what if I changed into my pj's already, right when I got home). Oliver crawled, screaming, into the closet, clawing his way up my legs. Picking him up did nothing though. Well, nothing but make my ears ring.
Here comes the crazy part. I got his bottle out of the fridge (screaming), got my purse and carried him outside (screaming), put him in his car seat and gave him his bottle...nothing...he grabbed the bottle and started to eat, looking out the window. By the time I got to the park he was actually laughing at something. What the F*ck?
When I parked at Wal-mart I almost had my boy back, and once he was in the cart he was 100% there. I wasn't going to ruin this, so I took my sweet ass time walking around the store, picking up Oliver's Tylenol, and then getting a bunch of crayola finger paints and some stretched canvas' so that Oliver can do some painting this weekend. Now it was almost 8, and time to get home to try and get Oliver to eat dinner. It was also time to call Bo and find out where the hell he was, because he was going to be at Wilf's before 7...He was still there, and told me he was just getting ready to leave (I told him how Oliver had been, and assumed that he could see that 40 minutes of tantrum had pretty much worn me right down).
I got us home and Oliver some dinner, which he ate about half of, he just wanted to play...I thought. Oliver fought to get out of his bouncer, and once on the floor he looked at me then pointed to the window. Then he started his chant "dadadadadadadada dadadadad dadadadada" while he cruised across the couch and onto his chair. Still chanting for Daddy, he climbed into the chair, banged on the window, then put his head down onto the back of the chair and started crying.
Yeah, Momma is pissed now. It's been 48 hours since Bo's spent any quality time with Oliver, and he's sick. Sicker then he's been and in pain and Bo knows this. I went and picked up my boy, giving him as many cuddles as I could, then grabbed a couple of books and a new bottle for him. I put him in his bouncer, then called Bo and bitched him out for being such a dick. I read to Oliver until Bo got home 20 minutes. Oliver was very happy to see his Dad, full of smiles and laughs. I just really wish I hadn't needed to call Bo to tell him that there were more important reasons to be home then to (still) be at Wilf's. We ordered a pizza for dinner, ate, and went to bed.