Weeks that contain lots of vomit aren’t my favorite. I can’t imagine that they’re anyone’s favorite! But as a borderline emetophobe, it’s really hard for me to stay peaceful when there’s icky stuff spewing about the house.
(Yes, I now call my fear “borderline” because 16+ years of parenting has worn the roughest edges off what was once an almost debilitating phobia. Those of you who have emet know. Those who don’t think we’re a special kind of crazy. But that’s OK. Everybody’s afraid of something, and you folks who pass out at the sight of spiders make me giggle a little. So it’s all good.)
Anyway, Jonah (who was thankfully in my bed, or I’d have a bed-cleaning story to share, too) woke up moaning. We managed to get him to the toilet before everything he ate last night came up. I’m also thankful that it was early enough that Dad was still home. I have a big deadline to meet today and taking care of a sick child wasn’t going to mesh with what I had to accomplish, so he graciously took a sick day off to tend to the young ‘un.
Can I just inject that I have the best hubby, ever?
So, the morning was filled with trips to the bathroom, and the poor boy is in a swim diaper because it started pouring out the other end, too. And Donnie had to experience what I did years ago when he was deployed: a sick kid crying in the bathroom with messes on both ends and that horrible feeling of wanting to just dunk him in a vat of hand sanitizer, then hose him off. (Donnie did, however, miss the bonus feature of a toddler simultaneously spewing half-digested milk all over his crib, stuffed animals and toys. On bad days, I go back to that moment in my mind and whatever it is that I’m up against seems ever so much better.)
So…the morning wore on, but partly into it, my stomach started bubbling like a witch’s brew and Dad’s did, too, and before I knew it, the three of us were playing toilet tag.
Just. UGH! Not exactly on today’s agenda, but what can you do? I’m just glad that the eldest is at school, the two middle kids are off at sleepovers and hopefully, I’ve gotten this place sanitized well enough that they get to skip this crud.
Amazingly, though, Jonah already feels better. It’s a weird bug–one that hits hard and fast, but ends blessedly quickly. It hasn’t even been 12 hours and he is playing and begging for food with a fervency that would put most dogs to shame.
(Yes, I just compared my child to a dog. It happens.)
This is almost my least-favorite part of the stomach virus. Obviously, the worst part is when foulness is pouring out of multiple bodily orifices, but this stage is a close second. It breaks my heart to hear my babies asking for something I can’t give them!
But if he eats now, experience has taught me, we’ll be back at square one. You have to let the digestive system heal a little first. My older children understand that now when they’re sick, but it’s so sad with the little ones who don’t quite get it.
“Please, mama, please–I just want ONE chip. Please?”
“But I FEEL BETTER NOW!”
“Mooooommmmm…I just wanna EAT!” and he gives me this pleading sad face and it almost works.
And then he roots through the kitchen, bringing me fruit, and yogurt and noodles, one at a time, hoping that he has uncovered the one magic food that will earn Mom’s “Yes” but again and again, he’s met with my sympathetic “No.”
He finally snaps.
“I am ANGRY at you!” he exclaims. And he stomps his foot and wow, does his expression go along with his words!
Bless his little heart. I’d be angry at me, too.
Just hang on a little while longer, buddy, and keep sipping that ginger ale….