This is a post about vomit.
If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen, people.
The hubby and I awoke to the sound of gagging, then screaming, on the baby monitor, which led to my racing up the steps to find Molly, sitting up, covered in puke. This was the moment we realized we never bothered to buy a back-up crib sheet. Johannah was so freaked out that she moved out of Molly's room and slept in her own bed for the first time in years; turns out her fear of puking is much worse than her fear of sleeping alone.
The rest of our night:
Clean baby, throw crib sheet in washer, put Molly in bed with us. She pukes again. This was the moment we realized our other sheets were still on the basement floor, next to, but not exactly in line for, the washing machine.
Put baby in the bath while hubby strips the bed. Put Molly back into our bed, now covered with beach towels in lieu of sheets.
Wake to baby puking on the towels in her sleep!
Clean baby. Listen to husband snore. Listen for baby gagging. Listen as alarm goes off at 5am.
I ended up racing to work, putting in some lesson plans, and racing home to drive Jo and Lindsay to school, and relievinb Brendan so he could make it to a big meeting.
All was well Friday night, and Saturday we had a great family day of hanging out, running errands, swimming at the Y pool, and going out to a fabulous Thai restaurant.
Then disaster struck.
Johannah announced that she didn't feel well.
"Will I puke? Will I?" She was nearly hysterical. And pale. Very pale.
"Of course you won't puke. You haven't puked in years. Just take some Tums," I say, knowing damn well she will be puking, and very soon, by the looks of her. This is the kid that went practically apoplectic when our friend threw up on a rocket ride at Oktoberfest. She wasn't faking it either - she was pale, shaking, and completely off her rocker at the IDEA that this girl puked.
And soon, she would be too. In fact, less than an hour later, her little body was hunched over the toilet, heaving, with one arm outstretched behind her - in the international STOP sign.
"Let me be," she croaked.
Of course, I tried to, but I'm a mom, and hovering is what we do best. Tried to get her back to bed, but Brendan and I woke up to that sickening sound of SPLASH on hardwood floor that would wake any parent from a coma.
I ended up sleeping next to her in the guest bed, helping her throw up in a bowl every 20 minutes between 1-4:30am. Then, mercifully, she slept, despite her 103.5 fever, and her mom wiping her sweaty brow every 10 minutes.
So...happy cold and flu season, everyone! May it be short and as painless as possible!