When I was a little girl, whenever I got sick, my mom would be in the bathroom right along with me, holding my hair out of my face and placing a cool, wet washcloth on my forehead. In college, I remember hanging my head over a toilet bowl when the need arose, generally alone and cursing Jose Cuervo. When I got pregnant with Ella, I didn't throw up so much as I just constantly felt like I was going to, but with Summit, I threw up literally all day every single day until he was born. Perhaps that was a precursor to my little boy, because he was a puker. We called him 'Old Faithful' as we knew what was coming precisely 15 minutes after every bottle was sucked dry.
Experiences with throw-up are an inevitable part of being a parent. And if you're a parent who doesn't deal with this grossness, then you either have a partner who does it for you, a live-in nanny, or an unbelievably amazingly healthy kid who must certainly live in a bubble. Since I have none of the above, I also hold the title of "puke manager." (Unfortunately, this is a position that goes without pay or other compensation.)
This past week was a pukey one for me. Summit got sick last Monday at 4 or so in the morning. He woke up and threw up all over his bed. Then he got into our bed and did it again. Cleaning up puke-covered bedding at any time sucks, but in the wee hours of the morning it's like losing your place in line and getting punched in the stomach at the same time. I thought we were gonna be alright when the week crept by with no other instances of vomit, but Thursday evening the puke troll made another appearance when he blew himself out of Ella. And like her brother, she tagged our bed with the contents of her stomach. Seriously, what is it with these kids throwing up in my bed? On my side of the bed? Oh well, I needed to replace the pillows she threw up on anyways.
Since her brother had just one round of throwing up, I assumed that Ella's episode would also be limited to just that night. Friday she didn't feel well and by Saturday mid-morning there were no more instances of a sick tummy. Thank goodness, because Saturday night Matt was in Asheville seeing Widespread Panic with some college buddies, and I was playing single mommy, which is relatively manageable and fun when the kids are feeling well. Everything was nice and serene.
Ha! Note to self: don't count chickens. Ever. Out of a dream-filled sleep and a bed warm with my snuggling little ones, that stinking troll rangled the peacefulness right out of us. I didn't hear her get out of bed when she first woke up. What I did hear, what did tear me from my dreams of happiness and excitement, was the sound of throw-up splattering in the bathroom. The lights were off when I ran into the bathroom. And when I flipped the switch, Ella saw it too... a downed toilet lid with a hotdog-laden puddle of puke running off the sides. Oh. Emm. Gee. You have gotta be kidding me. Yuck!
My attempts to clean up the mess... and this ain't an easy or pretty one to fix... led to a clogged toilet, which needed a plunger. All of the above was too much for me to handle, and I found myself praying to the porcelin god in the other bathroom. Sigh. If only Summit had woken up for it. It could have been like that puke scene in Stand By Me.
Ah, well, such is life. Parenthood has many great moments, but also many gross, disgusting, vomit-filled ones. I guess you gotta take the good with the bad. One thing I got out of this: hotdogs are totally off-limits. They will never look the same.
Experiences with throw-up are an inevitable part of being a parent. And if you're a parent who doesn't deal with this grossness, then you either have a partner who does it for you, a live-in nanny, or an unbelievably amazingly healthy kid who must certainly live in a bubble. Since I have none of the above, I also hold the title of "puke manager." (Unfortunately, this is a position that goes without pay or other compensation.)
This past week was a pukey one for me. Summit got sick last Monday at 4 or so in the morning. He woke up and threw up all over his bed. Then he got into our bed and did it again. Cleaning up puke-covered bedding at any time sucks, but in the wee hours of the morning it's like losing your place in line and getting punched in the stomach at the same time. I thought we were gonna be alright when the week crept by with no other instances of vomit, but Thursday evening the puke troll made another appearance when he blew himself out of Ella. And like her brother, she tagged our bed with the contents of her stomach. Seriously, what is it with these kids throwing up in my bed? On my side of the bed? Oh well, I needed to replace the pillows she threw up on anyways.
Since her brother had just one round of throwing up, I assumed that Ella's episode would also be limited to just that night. Friday she didn't feel well and by Saturday mid-morning there were no more instances of a sick tummy. Thank goodness, because Saturday night Matt was in Asheville seeing Widespread Panic with some college buddies, and I was playing single mommy, which is relatively manageable and fun when the kids are feeling well. Everything was nice and serene.
Ha! Note to self: don't count chickens. Ever. Out of a dream-filled sleep and a bed warm with my snuggling little ones, that stinking troll rangled the peacefulness right out of us. I didn't hear her get out of bed when she first woke up. What I did hear, what did tear me from my dreams of happiness and excitement, was the sound of throw-up splattering in the bathroom. The lights were off when I ran into the bathroom. And when I flipped the switch, Ella saw it too... a downed toilet lid with a hotdog-laden puddle of puke running off the sides. Oh. Emm. Gee. You have gotta be kidding me. Yuck!
My attempts to clean up the mess... and this ain't an easy or pretty one to fix... led to a clogged toilet, which needed a plunger. All of the above was too much for me to handle, and I found myself praying to the porcelin god in the other bathroom. Sigh. If only Summit had woken up for it. It could have been like that puke scene in Stand By Me.
Ah, well, such is life. Parenthood has many great moments, but also many gross, disgusting, vomit-filled ones. I guess you gotta take the good with the bad. One thing I got out of this: hotdogs are totally off-limits. They will never look the same.
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