You may remember when my little sister got married a few months ago, we took Bubba along for the fun (perhaps against our best judgement). As you can imagine, taking a toddler to a wedding — an out of town wedding, no less — was not easy, but we didn’t ruin the party and no one had any nervous breakdowns or anything, so I was thrilled to put the whole experience into the “win” category. With this past success in mind, when it came time to make plans to attend my other little sister‘s nuptials, which took place last weekend, we didn’t even consider leaving Bubba behind. Why would we, right? If anything, I reasoned, he’d be even easier this time around, considering he’s a little older and likes M&Ms even more (and is thus more easily bribed into behaving, at least in precious thirty second intervals).
So the hotel was booked and time off work was arranged. I packed Bubba’s little suit and made a list of all the toys and snacks to bring along (vital: Hot Wheels and M&Ms), and discussed various contingency plans with TFW just in case the dear lad refused to behave during the ceremony. I had learned a lot from the previous wedding and had no doubt that all my bases were covered this time around. I had every step of our journey planned out and was ready for another successful family wedding adventure!
And then on Thursday afternoon, just 24 hours before we were due to leave for Santa Barbara, Bubba developed pneumonia. We spent hours in Urgent Care until a delightful combination of antibiotics and steroids (and Motrin, which he promptly puked up all over himself, me, and his precious teddy bear1) got both his breathing and his fever (104°!) under control. The poor boy was quite a sight:
Now, obviously, pneumonia is a serious condition and not something to be taken lightly, but I have to admit that my primary concern (after confirming that my child would be just fine, of course) was whether we could still bring him to the damn wedding that weekend! It was my sister’s wedding, after all — it’s not like I could just skip it. Leaving my sick baby behind didn’t sound like a suitable solution, either, because there was no way in hell I was going to trust anyone else to give him his medicine and inhaler2. Luckily, the doctor said that since he was on antibiotics and steroids, it was perfectly fine to bring him along — he wasn’t contagious, and while he obviously wasn’t going to be feeling his best, that wasn’t going to change whether he was at home or in a hotel. WHEW! What a relief! The wedding weekend was saved!
Or…not.
Did you know that sick children don’t particularly like sleeping in strange hotel rooms? Or being forced to wear suits instead of comfy nylon pants?
Also, did you know that an outdoor wedding in December can be very, very cold, even in southern California? Like, 39°? And that even adding a sweater on top of a suit is really not sufficient coverage for A TODDLER WITH PNEUMONIA?
Yeah, that poor kid lasted about thirty seconds before I told TFW he had better take him home. It was just too cold and he was just too cranky (how dare I try to force him to wear a beanie! And aren’t I the meanest mom ever for not letting him venture outside the somewhat-heated reception tent?!) — I could tell straightaway that there was no hope of so much as five minutes of wedding-appropriate behavior, no matter how many M&Ms I shoveled down his gullet. All that planning and driving, and my husband and child never even laid eyes on the bride (who was, of course, stunning):
On the bright side, the departure of my ever-patient and accommodating husband and my sickly child meant that I was an unfettered woman all evening, free to enjoy champagne and to dance (poorly) to such gems as Summer Lovin’ and Gangnam Style, so it wasn’t a total bust.
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Footnotes:
1Of course when he vomited, I had no extra clothes for him or myself, because that would have just been way too easy. I sent TFW home to fetch us more clothes and considered sending Gokey home with him so the washing process could begin, but ultimately I decided to keep the bear with us at the clinic despite the fact that he was absolutely drenched in foul-smelling pink puke (Bubba had apparently eaten nothing but peaches for lunch at school); I figured allowing my son to at least see his filthy bear would be preferable to dealing with repeated sobs pleading, “where Gokey?!?!?!” I was right, and it also resulted in several classic lines from Bubba, including “ew…he stinky” and an emphatic “I no touch him.”
2Not even Daddy. Sorry.
The Baby Is Fine 