Warm and sweaty days are the worst when combined with diarrhea. I was lucky and didn’t get any of that. My son on the other hand, scored an ‘entirely liquid’ on the Bristol stool chart. That’s a pretty nasty level of diarrhea. My son, of course, is three. Guess who wiped butt juice from a sore and painful sphincter all day? (Hint: it was me.)
I was wise enough to foresee the worst outcome early in the morning, and got meds and electrolytes at the pharmacy to make sure that my boy’s butt would get the mildest possible experience. Yet, they took their time to kick in. Until about 6pm there was a lot of agony, and because of it the boy looked like a roadkill. I wasn’t sure if he would recover anytime soon. Then he ate some salami, and as if touched by the gods of gastroenteritis, he suddenly came alive. By 7pm he assured us that we would drive up the hill to see the sunset, something we had talked about since yesterday.
Unsure, and armed with baby wet wipes and extra diapers (I don’t need diapers anymore dad!) we drove up the hill. The medicine had clearly done its job. Roadkill Rafa turned into the chatty old Rafa that we know and love.
The sun set. It was a good end of a bad day.