Admitted

Well Peeps, I have a sad tale to tell. It's all about getting stabbed and poked and prodded and stabbed and bothered. Let this be a warning to you. Hospitals are lame.

It all started with a kidney infection. I'll spare you the details on that diagnosis but suffice to say, I was not impressed. Much stabbing (shots) and poking (blood draws) was involved. And because I happened to keep having teensy tiny fevers (repeatedly spiked over 103), I earned myself a field trip to the hospital. Lame. (Lame is a recurring theme in this story.)

Getting an IV was super lame, especially because it took two tries. At least they had Mickey on TV.

It didn't take too long to get my very own room, complete with a giant TV with Mickey. Tiny win.  

I was pretty wiped from being tortured by the needles so I decided to take a little rest.

I guess the bed was okay...

... but napping on mom was a little better, even if I got kicked a lot. Buster is not a good lap-sharer.

I did play a little in between the torture.

And I did smile just a little too.

I wasn't miserable the whole time.

It helped that there was a lot of TV involved. I mean, a lot. Billions. 

I was a pretty good girl too. When mom had to go potty or go get water, I was happy to hang out in my crib (and watch TV, obviously). (And no, she never left me with the crib sides down.) 

This is possibly why I liked being in the crib...

I also liked being snorgled for nap. There was a lower chance that someone would come and stab me and a higher chance mom would be able to tell them that she was not happy with my four blood draws in one day and she was going to fight whoever tried to stab me again. At least I'm pretty sure that's how the conversation went.

In the end they decided my kidney infection was all better and I just happen to have a bonus virus too. Luckily mom and dad were all, "We're leaving, call us if you need us," and then they broke me out of the joint. The doctors thought I was so awesome that I should stay longer. Mom and dad were all, "Thanks but no thanks."

And I'm so happy to be home. It's so much easier to eat and drink and play and sleep when you're not being attacked by vicious stethoscopes and scary thermometers and needles. I'm willing to go back to the hospital when Buster gets forcibly removed, but not any sooner.