Andrew woke up in the middle of the night on Saturday, crying because he’d lost Pooh. When I went into his room to help him look for Pooh, I had an unpleasant surprise waiting for me: He’d gotten sick all over himself and his bed. He didn’t seem to realize what had happened and was relatively untroubled by it, so I began the process that I’ve unfortunately become all-too-familiar with as a parent: bathe child, wash bedding, put on new bedding, spray foam carpet cleaner on the floor, retrieve child, dress child in new pajamas, tuck child back into bed. I repeated the process with Andrew twice Saturday night.
He was okay on Sunday -- a bit lethargic and tired, obviously, because he’d been up much of the night before. But he didn’t get sick again. I chalked it up to one of those Random Pukings that kids sometimes have and went on with the weekend (including scaring both boys to death with my thoughtless choice of tee-shirt because I am an awesome mom).
Monday I sent the boys to daycare and had a quiet, productive, peaceful day at home. But Monday night, right after I got the boys in the bathtub, something in my belly started to revolt. I completely emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet (OR SO I THOUGHT), and as I turned back around to make sure I hadn’t terrified the boys, I saw Will doing the exact same thing IN THE BATHTUB.
He had hot dogs for dinner. A sight I will never forget.
Thus began a horrible, awful, terrible, no good night of sleeping for 20 minutes, waking up to vomit, feeling good for 5 minutes, sleeping for 20 more, and waking up to vomit again. This went on for both Will and me until about 5:00 in the morning, at which point we were finally able to collapse into bed and sleep for more than 20 minutes at a stretch.
Joe came home from work and informed me that his stomach had felt off all night (and he wasn’t able to leave work, since he’s the manager and is responsible for all kinds of things), although he didn’t throw up. We promptly sent Andrew to daycare and spent the day resting. By Tuesday evening, Will was able to keep down a banana and some water, and Joe and I had toast and apple juice.
Yesterday was much better, and today we all feel almost completely normal. I’m still having a few moments of queasiness, but I was able to drink a very welcome cup of coffee this morning (my first cup since Monday!) with no problems.
There should be some sort of quota for how sick a family can be in one year. If there were, I’m pretty sure we would’ve reached it already. In February. We’re just over-achievers like that.