Yesterday: Puke Galore

Warning:  Do not read this is you’re eating something and you are prone to sympathy gagging.  I’m telling a gross story here.

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No Retreat, No Surrender buy So, last you heard, I was heading upstairs with a roll of paper towels to clean up old vomit.  Boy, was that fun.  I hate to tell the Bounty paper towel people, but I resorted to old cloth diapers because even a fancy, deluxe paper towel couldn’t handle vomit-soaked carpet.

Sunday afternoon, I took my 4-year old to the swimming pool for a couple of hours.  She’s already swimming underwater with no fear or hesitation.  I read my book (Stephen King’s On Writing) as much as possible, which was not much because every two minutes, she beckoned me, “Mom!  Look at me!”

What a lovely afternoon of leisure.  My husband cooked dinner when we returned home.  After we ate, I continued reading.  And then, oh, then the inevitable happened.  My daughter cried out, “My tummy hurts!” and I heard a rustle in the hallway and shot to my feet.  My husband was in the hallway, but I didn’t hear what he said, something about throwing up and I said, “IN THE TOILET!  IN THE TOILET!” and he said, “She already did it!”

Oh.  Yeah.  She was screaming.  A glistening puddle of vomit shone at her feet and I said, “Are you done?” and I lifted her over the puddle into the bathroom and she yurked right into the sink, all the while screaming.  I said, “Okay, okay, are you done?” and she drooled a little and then I directed her to the toilet–at last, a bulls-eye–and she finished her puke-fest, then shrieked and cried some more until I said, “Are you done?” and she nodded and I said with perhaps a bit too much cheer, “Well, then, don’t you feel better?” and she agreed, but she still cried because she had vomit on her legs.

I ran the bath and while she soaked in the steaming water, I scooped up the shocking amount of vomit with toilet paper so I could flush it all.

Well, that sounds fun, doesn’t it?  I’m lucky that I have no gag-reflex whatsoever.

This stomach churning continued through the night until 4:00 a.m.  She spent most of the night on her bedroom floor, staring at the television, writhing around to escape her stomach pain, occasionally dry-heaving onto a towel.  I spent most of the night suspended in that state between wakefulness and sleep, running every hour or so to her room to comfort her.  (I realize that I sound like a terrible mother, leaving her to her illness, only checking in from time to time.  I assume that she dozed off between cries.)  At 4 a.m., she came into my room to inform me that her stomach felt better, so I said, “Good.  Go get some sleep.”

I think she did.  When I got up to walk at 6:15 a.m., I could see a sliver of light under her closed door, but she was quiet.  I think she’d fallen asleep with the light on.

I did take a small nap Monday morning after my walk, but despite that, the day was a blur.  Today, still, I’m bleary-eyed and tempted to take a nap, even though I’m not the napping type.

The end.