When Did I Get Used to Vomit, and How Do I Go Back?

I was thrown up on twice today, and not just a little bit. Think buckets.

Our family has contracted some type of virus this week (any parent will tell you that when one child gets sick, it's just a matter of time before the rest follow her down the rabbit hole) in which the infected child runs a fever, vomits all day long, and generally makes life miserable for everyone who's still healthy.

The fun started a few days ago with Alison. Sometime between x and y A.M., Leslie came back to bed and woke me from the deepest of sleeps and asked if I could feed the baby. Still not completely alert and a bit confused by this request, I delicately asked her why she was waking me up when she was already awake. She respond casually, as if she already knew the river card was the ace she needed to fill her royal flush: "Because Alison just threw up all over her bed and I'm kind of covered in it right now." Oh. "Yeah, I guess I can hold a bottle for ten minutes."

Forty-eight hours later, Alison was happy again, and it looked like our family would be back to normal. The doctor had diagnosed her with food poisoning, so we weren't too worried about the other two kids because pediatricians are never wrong.

Which brings us to today. Henry was napping when I came home from school, and when he woke up he was incredibly fussy and clingy. I sat down to check some e-mail, and he had to sit in my lap. I stood up to answer a knock at the door, and he had to be carried. I should've known what was coming, but I didn't.

At about four o'clock I sat down on the couch to watch the tail end of a disheartening Yankee game, and Henry immediately climbed onto my lap and threw his arms around my neck. Maybe he would finally settle down, I thought. And then it happened.

He sat up, looked me dead in the eye, and turned into Linda Blair, minus the spinning head. I was suddenly covered in vomit, but oddly enough, I wasn't terribly alarmed by this development. In fact, my only real concern was that the couch I was sitting on, the couch that was now absorbing Henry's vomit, was currently up for auction on eBay and already had a few bids. We were now selling a couch that smelled like vomit. Could we get extra for that?

Twenty mintues later Henry struck again with equal volume, leading to my second wardrobe change of the afternoon. A while later he would spit up again, leaving a mysterious yellow stain on my shoulder that was far too inconsequential to be considered an actual "vomit incident." Since I had already filled the clothes hamper with souvenirs of the days events, I didn't even bother changing this time.

All of which brings me to my question of the day. When did I get used to vomit, and how do I go back? For most of my life (except for four years spent at an institution of higher learning) I did everything within my power to avoid vomit, but those days are a distant memory. Now I live in a world in which I will cup my hands together to catch whatever might spew forth from my child's mouth, all because I don't have time to get a bowl from the kitchen. Do you understand what I'm saying? I willingly hold regurgitated food in my hands.

And the sad part of it all is that I don't think there's any going back. I've been baptized into the Church of Bodily Fluids, and my soul has changed forever.

Comments

[Joleen]

too funny! and so true.. today i was thinking.. when did i start thinking it's okay to "fish out" boogies from other people??? (im a nanny to a 13 month old)

[Giao]

Such a strangely sweet story. Rock on, Hank & Leslie!

[shokufeh]

Yikes! This is what awaits me? I hope I can handle it with such humor.