Respite: The Aftermath

Immediately, I stripped the crib and disinfected every surface I could think of.  The entire house reeked of Lysol and the garbage cans were overflowing with poopy diapers.  The child hadn't even been with us for 24 hours.  It felt like we had been run over by a bulldozer.

I don't know if it was the lack of sleep or the overwhelming scent of Lysol, but I felt sick to my stomach.  I begged Darryl to let me go to back to bed.  He took Bram out so I could rest.

I didn't rest long before I was headed right to the bathroom.

Uh oh.

I was sick.

Suddenly I realized how sick that little boy was, how achy and uncomfortable and just miserable he felt.  Ugh.  

And here is what was worse:  the next day was my birthday.

I spent the rest of the week (my entire spring break) in bed and miserable.  I shut off my phone and missed all the phone calls and texts of people wishing me happy birthday. I couldn't have cared less.  I shut the door and Darryl continued to sleep on the couch with Bram in the Pack N Play downstairs. I didn't want to eat or celebrate or anything.  I.  Was. Miserable.


 I vowed right then and there that I would never take a respite again, no matter how much I loved the case worker, no matter if I had a placement or not.  This was terrible.  

Not only did he get me sick, but Darryl, Tiernen, and to a lesser degree, thank goodness, Bram.  Nope, I would never, ever take a respite again.

By the time I felt better, it was time to go back to work.  It was one of the worst spring breaks I had ever had.

On Monday, I got a call from the little boy's case planner.  She said his foster parents were back and that when they unpacked his things, he was missing some clothes.  They wanted to know if I had them.  I explained that no, I did not. I also explained that I had spent $75 on clothes for him, money I would never see again.  (I left out that now I had a refrigerator full of food that, other than the fruit, no one would eat).

Nope, never doing respite again.