Puke is a four letter word…

Ok, its been a while since I’ve had the energy and time to sit and rant for a bit.  The funny thing is that I’m actually coming off of a hellacious few days of no sleep, projectile vomiting and the Sox coming from behind to beat those damn Yankees. 

Friday was fairly uneventful as we slid into the weekend.  The hubby was home from his business trip, the Easter bunny was completely organized (for once) and the kids were excited to try out their very first “sister-only” sleepover party in my older daughter’s room.  Hubby and I settled my youngest into a sleeping bag on the floor with our king-sized comforter underneath for padding and big sister in her bed.  We opened a bottle of wine, expecting to enjoy an in-house date night with a movie.  Over the course of the next three hours, we had to settle the little one down at least four times with pleas of “I can’t take it anymore Mom, she keeps standing up and talking to me!” from big sister. 

The hubby and I ended up falling asleep on the couch and were jolted awake to the cries of both girls at midnight.

“What’s the matter?”

“There’s something all over me!”

“What is it?” I yelled in a panic, assessing some sort of beige goopy mess stuck to both pajama pant legs.

“I don’t know!” 

Crying and ranting continued as I took one look at my youngest and realized the source.  Frothing at the mouth with the mysterious goo, my little one had it all down the front of her.  Trying to strip two kids out of puke covered pjs after 2.5 glasses of wine while trying to prevent the dog from licking it up is not a walk in the park.  Of course, I implored my hubby to assist with the little one.  Unfortunately, he didn’t realize that her torso was covered in goo and proceeded to rake the shirt over her head, smearing it from chin to forehead and into her thick, curly hair.  Now I had two naked, bawling children and a bewildered hubby staring at me while I flipped out.

With both kids washed up, teeth brushed, jammies changed; we loaded them into our bedroom so that we could tackle cleaning the scene of the crime which smelled like a hotel room during spring break.  Not only had the little one managed to soil her sister’s Princess Jasmine sleeping bag, but our KING-sized, dry clean only, comforter.  FABULOUS.  We reenacted what must have occurred and determined that panic must have set in causing her to climb into bed and hover over her sleeping sister only to vomit all over her.  Four feet proceeded to run like passengers fleeing the Titanic through the burber-carpeted hallway and leave a trail of the Italian dinner that our little one wanted to share.  While I was attempting to de-chunk the bedding in the laundry room, I hear the hubby yelling “Oh God, Jesus, No!” followed by a rumble of feet moving quickly towards the direction of the hallway bathroom.  Even though it was Easter weekend, I knew that he wasn’t prepping for Sunday.  I ran upstairs to find the two of them covered in throw up and the little one continuing to wretch over the sink.  My oldest stood on our bed and pointed out all of the vomit stains on the carpet.  My husband and I traded off between cleaning the rugs and sitting with the little one in the bathroom.   It’s moments like those when you wish that you were June Cleaver with a toilet that you could serve a meal off of.  Just so happens that toilet duty had been on the Saturday “to do” list.  If she hadn’t been nauseous to begin with, I’m sure that the filthy toilet helped her turn the corner.  Jockeying again, I did a sweep of my oldest girl’s bedroom, smelling anything in a twelve inch radius from the drop zone.  That is when I realized that her bed took a hit along with all the bedding through to the mattress cover.  My hubby didn’t believe me when I asked him to smell the cover to see if it had penetrated.  He rubbed a hand over it and stated “It’s not wet.”  I retorted in a semi-shreik, ” Smell it!”  Holding my little one in her diaper, I bent over like a woman gone mad, sniffing the cover, demanding that it be changed.  “It’s stuck in your nose!” he yelled. 

I changed my little one as my hubby made the bed for my oldest.  I didn’t even make a peep when I saw that the bottom sheet did not match the top sheet or the pillow case.  I was simply grateful that he made the bed for me at this point.  With the girls settled into their own bedrooms, the hubby and I drifted back to the family room, shell-shocked.  It was nearly 1:30am.  Not twenty minutes had passed when I heard the little one barfing through the monitor.  I flew up the stairs to find that she had thrown up in her bed and continued in the trash bucket that I held in front of her little body.  “I scared,” she kept saying.  My heart broke.  I scooped her up and into the bathroom where I stripped her down, washed her and brushed her teeth.  She followed me into the bedroom and curled up on a little pillow on the floor, her diaper bum up in the air while I stripped all the bedding.

I carried her hot little body downstairs in her fourth nightgown of the night and grabbed a pedialite popsicle for her to suck on.  We curled up on the couch and settled in for some 24-hour Sprout.  The hubby kissed us both and headed for bed.  She finished her popsicle and was just dozing off in my arms when she sat up and asked for the bucket that we had brought with us.  “My belly hurts.”  Blam!  See you later popsicle.  Luckily, the nightgown was spared.  With a quick swish and spit of water, she settled back in under the blanket to watch Thomas the Train.  My eyes were crossing as I looked at the clock.  It was 3:30am and I had been up for work the morning before at 6am.  We shut off the lights and shuffled off to bed with the hopes that we would both sleep for a bit.  A creature of habit, she still wanted to rock and have a song before bed.  The performance of Mockingbird was pathetic, but after all that she had been through, Simon Cowell can kiss my ass. 

Sleep did come and the morning was quiet.  My husband even took our oldest to run errands and let us rest.  I figured a little late morning breakfast and a bath for my peanut would be great.  And then she shit in the tub….


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