Last Wednesday I just got home from seeing Carl when the phone rang.

It was my doctor’s office. They were insistent to see me the next day. About my ultrasound, the receptionist said. But it wasn’t anything to worry about, the receptionist said. But yes, I had to come in, even though I was officially transferring to the doctor/obstetrician who will deliver this baby and had an appointment with her the very next day, the receptionist said.

That phone call broke me. I lost it. The stress of work, Eric’s continuing job search, other drama, pregnancy — all of it converged with that phone call. Eric was at his brother’s in Toronto, but came flying home (as fast as one can up the Don Valley Parking Lot Parkway during rush hour) when I called him practically incoherent and sobbing.

(I called my boss and negotiated a break for a few days. Mom’s night out that evening helped immensely. A four-day hiatus from the computer and various fun-ness with Eric and Lucy meant this morning I woke nearly normal and less stressed. Thankfully.)

The short version of Thursday’s appointment was this: My prenatal testing showed a higher-than-normal ratio for my age for Down syndrome; mine was for a woman 34, not 29. Although the overall results pointed conclusively to negative, my cautious doctor didn’t like the number — so this afternoon, we went to the Oshawa hospital for a Level 2 ultrasound to get confirmation that everything is, indeed, all good.

And it is.

And I was completely proven wrong and utterly shocked to learn that Lucy is going to have a little sister.

Remember back in March we found out that Julia is closing up for the summer again?

After weeks of thinking and hmm-ing, we decided to stick with her. As one of the commenters, my friend Angie, said, there is always going to be something with any childcare provider you have. And because I have a flexible schedule, work from home and we’re surrounded by great and generous family, we knew we could deal with her closures. It’ll be annoying, but it’s a sacrifice we’re willing to make. On top of that, we just like and trust Julia too much, and want the Parasite2 to go there, too.

Plus, Julia said she’d be very upset to lose Lucy, who she described as a “delight” and a “perfect fit” into her life and roster of kids. Keep in mind the woman has a lengthy waiting list, so it’s not like she couldn’t easily find a replacement…

With that decision made, we turned to the resulting problem of finding someone to look after Lucy for my three work days a week, for the eight weeks of the summer.

I knew I could stretch my 20 hours over three full days, instead of 2.5 like I have been the past months. With this in mind, I figured I could make do with a teenager looking after Lucy from 8 a.m.-noon — meaning be out of the house at the park or down in the basement with the door closed — then work through her nap. If necessary, I could make up any hours on Thursdays, when my Lucy has her day with my Mom.

One lead — a friend of the family of one of Lucy’s daycare buddies — fell through after a promising start. But everything in life happens for a reason, and losing Rebecca had to happen or we wouldn’t have found Shelby.

Shelby’s 13 and lives across the road. She’s a beautiful, friendly girl with olive skin and brown hair who loves soccer. I approached her dad during on of his daily runs, and a few phone calls later, we secured ourselves not only a summer caregiver, but an eager babysitter for any evening out — who still has five years of school left, and lots of time to be wanting to pick up extra cash.

Jackpot.

We didn’t realize just how lucky we were — and great Shelby is — until this Tuesday, when she came over to meet us a bit more and spend some time with Lucy. My daughter took to this girl like no other stranger or even family member. Lucy chatted her ear off right away, played toys, was totally fine when we left them alone, and even gave her a hug when she left.

Good luck? Karma? Older — but not too older — girl idolhood?

I’m not going to question the caregiver gods who have sprinkled their magic dust on us once again. I’m just making silent prayers, blowing kisses in the wind, and am really damn thankful.

p.s. — thanks to all of you who left comments with suggestions and encouragement on that last post. It really means a lot!

This morning Eric and I had a Google chat about poop. Specifically around, how I, um, had to go, and his assertion that girls don’t poop, or if they do, that it smells like rainbows.

We are easing quite fluidly into a new routine at Chez McDougall-Foster, the Eric is Around the House All the Time new way of life.

He’s set up in his “office” in the basement (he picked his stuff up from work yesterday, and even brought his family photos downstairs), where we communicate via the aforementioned chat and various foot-stomping codes. We meet for a lunch date around 11:30 — the latest I can go without food — and watch Cold Case Files and American Justice together on the couch, our crossed feet touching on the padded ottoman.

For Lucy’s (and ours, too, but more for her) sake, we are trying to keep things as normal as possible. That means Eric’s alarm still goes off at 7 a.m., he still gets Lucy up while I eek out as many extra minutes of sleep as possible, he heads to the shower, and I stay in bed with my arm slung around Lucy’s tiny waist as she watches Rolly Pollie Ollie until the shower water stops and I haul myself out of bed.

I still do breakfast, and he still does morning drop-off. So far, Lucy hasn’t batted an eye. When she says her usual “Daddy go to work,” we smile and nod, because Daddy is going to work trying to find a new job. I’ve started telling her that Daddy’s working from home for a while now, trying to justify his presence when we arrive from daycare.

I think she’s too young to really know what’s up, but bet she’ll find it hard when he does find work and he’s back to his usual hours. Will wait and see, I guess.

For now, I’m loving the extra company and time with him. I do have some adjusting to do, however: Eric walked into our bedroom mid-morning to find me making smelly rainbows in the en suite bathroom with the door wide open.

Whoops.

You know it’s bad when your husband calls you from his cell phone on a Wednesday morning at 10:30.

Eric got laid off today.

There is a story, because isn’t there always? But his work, like mine, does not belong here for the most part. But it wasn’t performance related, and he’s leaving with references and a month’s salary and benefits.

I’ve told him I could hire him as an un-paid office assistant. This afternoon he got the cordless phone for me, and demanded “payment” in a form not fit for this family website. (For the record, I did a reverse dash-n-dine and made him leave without paying the bill).

At least we have not lost our sense of humours. At least not yet. We’ll see how tomorrow morning goes when the alarm goes off and there’s no place for him to go. And where we’re at in a month when his pay runs out and we start to dip into our savings diligently put aside to make up for my loss of income come October.

But we’re nowhere near there yet, and I am an optimist. Because everything in life happens for a reason, even when the reasons suck ass.

In true Murphy’s Law fashion, Julia called last night to say she had come down with the plague Lucy (and Eric and most of the other kids) has, and would not be open today.

(Note to those considering home vs. centre daycare: Provider sickness is a major con when there is only one person looking after your child(ren))

In true Mom-Saves-The-Day Fashion, Lucy’s Nana took the morning off so I could work and continue to do so during Lucy’s nap. Lucy’s currently asleep upstairs.

Last night we dropped Lucy off, scored some free dessert, then headed home for a child-free evening. Let me stress again to those that think parents get all naughty when their kids aren’t home: We don’t. We sleep. Seriously. Eric and I went a little wild by watching the baseball game in our bedroom with the door open. Par-tay.

This morning I was enjoying my Honey Nut Cheerios and blueberries n’ yogurt while Eric made his lunch. The birds were chirping through the open back door. Spencer was lying on the floor with his head on my foot. It was peaceful and serene.

“Wow. Sure is quiet without the Goose here, eh?” Eric says from behind me.

I suddenly realize he’s right. It’s not really peaceful and serene. It’s sorta eerily quiet. It’s the quietest our house has been in more than two years — even more so than other times Lucy has spent the night at my parents’.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said, sighing. Spencer rolled his eyes at us from under the table.

Isn’t it funny how the grass is always greener on the other side? That for almost every other weekday morning I am praying for 8 a.m., but the one morning without Lucy we are wishing she was there?

Go figure.

As he’s hugging me goodbye, Eric says in my ear, “You bring our Lucy home again, OK?”

Mission accomplished. Now are you going to come home to change her post-nap poop?

Just after 4 this afternoon, Julia called: Lucy had suddenly spiked a 102 degree fever and was sitting on the couch like a zombie.

I can’t say a call like that is every parent’s nightmare, ’cause that would involve ambulances and hospitals and godknows what else. But it’s up there enough to cause you to slightly freak out.

Know what makes matters worse? When you rush out to the car and discover the battery is dead.

Oh, the joy.

Luckily Julia’s is just a 10 minute walk (I think I did it in six), and the saint of a woman let me borrow her van to take Lucy make it to the walk-in clinic before it closed (seriously, how amazing is that? Show of hands whose daycare provider would offer up their vehicle without a moment’s hesitation?). Lucy was a furnace; her skin felt like it’d been sunburned, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed. The simple question of whether to put on her hat caused big fat baby tears to well in her puffy green-blue eyes. The poor thing.

Turns out our wee girl has herself a nasty chest infection. We have that yucky glowing pink antibiotic liquid to give her every three hours. Thankfully Lucy has always been good at taking medicine, and just slurped it back before bed. Normally Lucy farts around and plays for a while before falling asleep, but tonight she quite literally passed out without a peep.

Eric’s taking tomorrow morning off, and I’ll take over in the afternoon. Wish our tiny tot a speedy recovery!

p.s. — I got a great idea off Parent Hacks the other day, and got a chance to use it today: Know how for as long as you spend waiting in the doctor’s reception area, you wait in the exam room? To help pass the time (and lessen exposure to more than likely germ-infested office toys), let your child draw on the crinkly paper covering the exam table. I carry a plastic baggie of crayons in my purse, and Lucy and I busted them out today. It certainly helped a good three minutes go by, and was a great novelty.

Both Lucy and Eric have been battling this wicked cold-with-flu-like-symptoms the past 10 days.

Last Monday Eric took the day off work, which means he is essentially dead. While he’s been back since, he hasn’t been able to taste food the past few days, my No. 1 pet peeve about blocked sinuses. To make matters worse, we were out last night at Stage West with Mark and Jenn (our Christmas gift from Eric’s Dad) — which is a buffet — and the poor guy couldn’t taste any of his food. How evil is that?

Lucy yesterday had a fever along with a never-ending runny nose, and overnight was up for hours coughing away. The poor thing. We aren’t allowed to give cough syrup anymore, so instead we had to listen to our baby girl hack away almost to the point of vomiting. This morning she woke up flushed and hot as a furnace, so she’s home with me today. And currently sleeping thankthelord.

If there’s one thing worse than a sick infant, it’s a sick 2-year-old with nary a tolerance level. Lucy started wailing like she was dying seven times today for the most ridiculous reasons: Getting Carrots the stuffed rabbit stuck between her crib bars. Intentionally throwing a mini Dora figurine under the fridge. A grape was too squishy. Thankfully these meltdowns are much, much easier to tolerate when you know that feeling miserable is the root cause.

The fever has stayed away so far after a dose of Motrin this morning, so we’ll see how she does the rest of the day. We might be hitting up the walk-in clinic tomorrow.

Luckily I have managed to duck this horribleness so far, which is very unusual. I can only guess it’s a strain of something I’ve had before, ’cause the odds are so stacked against me with both family members down. Or maybe the Sick Gods are just waiting for Eric to get better so he can adequately take care of my super whiny ass.

Care to share your best tips for taking care of a sick baby/toddler? ‘Cause it’s only 1:30, and haha, there are many more hours left today…

UPDATE: Thanks for your comments all you wise mommas, and please keep them coming. My Mom also mentioned honey (mixing it with warm water or milk) as an alternative. I went to the pharmacy today, to ask about alternates to cough medicine, and they stressed no cough syrup for kids under 6 now. There aren’t even products available to purchase for kids under this age. Colleen, I hadn’t heard about those Sniffles by Hylands, but they sound interesting — will check them out. I’m happy to report Lucy is still sleeping, and has had only two mini coughing spells since she went down at 12:45 — so hopefully that means she’s on the mend!

The best part about going away is coming home.

I ended up catching an early train/bus, and my Dad and Lucy met me at the station. Lucy kept grinning at me from the back seat, saying, “Hi, Mommy! Hi! Hiiieeeeee!” When we got out of the car, she literally flung herself at me, knocking me over backwards on the driveway. Where Spencer decided to pounce on the both of us, placing a combined 50+ pounds on my boobs. Niiiice.

I think I had one of the best sleeps of my life last night, snuggled down with Eric in my own bed. Bliss.

I’ve the most ridiculous stories to share (GO bus shenanigans, exploding whipped cream, cell phone-licking dude in the Armani suit), but I’m in desperate need of an afternoon snooze while Lucy is down.

Be back soon. Have a nice weekend!

p.s. During the voting for the Bribery contest? There were 3,144 visits to DRB. April 2 alone had 1,547 — the largest one-day number of visitors to the site.

I slept awful last night. As exciting as it is to be away from home in a swanky hotel room (there were chocolates on my pillow, people! And a bottle of red wine with brie and crackers on the desk!), I don’t do well not in my own bed. Especially after sleeping in the same bed with Eric for so long.

So I’ve pretty much been awake since 5:30, which means when the day ends at 6 p.m., I will be, how do you say, a zombie.

My departure was almost catastrophic. Eric and Lucy dropped me off at the bus, and poor Lucy was determined to come on the “round and round” (the song, remember?) with me. “Lucy bus, too? Peeeeese, Mommy!” Tears and all. Geezus, child, you aren’t making this easy for Mum-Mum.

We parked behind some cars so Lucy couldn’t actually see the bus, and after a quick kiss, Eric sped off before she realized what happened. I called after the bus pulled away, and thankfully she was fine.

Today she’s at Julia’s, then will spend tomorrow with my parents. It’s so comforting to have a great support network so I do not have to worry about her while I’m gone.

Today I have to make business contacts (AKA: schmooze, a word I detest. Reminds me of a used car salesman…), and attend sessions on retirement and pensions.

Control your excitement!

Off to snarf as many muffins as possible. Have a great day.

More Bribery Photo Contest entries up! If you’ve emailed at all this week, they’re (finally) up here.

(Sorry. It’s production week. Which has been a rough one. Is my head on? Grunlsahgyu?)

Tomorrow is your LAST DAY to enter! So get ‘em in.

Voting starts Monday, after I can figure out how to, um, get voting on here. *cough*