Last night was a small slice of hell. Our two children both awoke vomiting at about 1 AM. It continued through the night. As Ralph and I dealt with this drama we got in an argument. Because of course! What else do we need. After about forty-five solid minutes of vomit detail Ralph and Nels went back to bed and I spent until 4:30 AM up with my daughter, cleaning bedding, giving her a bath, helping her vomit, and trying (successfully) not to cry. About every thirty minutes thereafter Sophie and I slept-talked through her illness; she would fidget, I’d say, “Do you have to puke?” and her voice would come back crystal-clear and small and precise and duck-like: “Not quite yet.” Then she’d say, “Mama, I have to puke,” and I’d whisk her over to the floor where her vassal awaits. After she was done I’d wipe her mouth and go flush and rinse the barf-tub. Rinse and repeat, all night. Surprisingly, I really did sleep pretty well once we got this rhythm down.
And this morning while Sophie continues to dry-heave on the hour, Nels so far has not thrown up since last night. This makes the amount of times he’s vomited in his lifetime, um… once? That boy keeps stuff down.
The amount of foul-smelling laundry, bedding, towels and clothes I have this morning is overwhelming. And here I am with my son on my lap typing and smelling puke in his hair and hoping to God I don’t get whatever it is they got. We have company coming over for the weekend – one of my best friends, her daughter, and their two dogs. Needless to say my guest preparations are set back a bit (I did disclose to my friend).
Readers, if you’re even reading this far, I have two sick kids and a lot of vomit and am feeling very alone.