First, a disclaimer: I should have named this post Projectile or An Ash Wednesday Exorcism. If you can’t read about vomit, turn away now. You can read about me Keepin’ It Classy instead…
Today my little Levi finally succumbed to the virus that has been going around in our circle of friends. I can see that sneaky little bastard standing in the bushes in my backyard all smug. He just said under his breath, “You Toroks can lysol, but you cannot hide.” *snicker*
What a douche canoe.
My little guy has had horrible diarrhea and lethargy. The lethargy is always what gives a way an oncoming decline in health. My children were built for speed. I stayed home from work and transitioned between holding him warm on my chest and reaching over his sleeping body to get to my laptop so that my workload wouldn’t get out of control.
We made it through the day and he seemed to be getting a bit better. He had asked for food, eaten and held it down. We were on our way to the healthy column. We all gathered at the end of our day to eat a Lenten kick off dinner of cod, french fries and corn.
My husband is the king of starchy meals but he also cooks. I will take my corn with a side of french fries, please and thank you.
As my little Levi tells us he is full and starts tossing bits of fish and fries off of his tray…he urps.
Yep. Not a lot. A little puddle of vomit. Daddy grabs a cloth. I pull the tray away and stand him on the table. I’m talking to him and unbuttoning his soiled pajama top. Poor baby.
And then again. I stand back just in time for him to miss most of my top half but my leggings and socks are covered. Nice. Now he is crying. Vomit always surprises babies. They are almost certainly asking, “What the hell was that?” I start consoling and telling him it’s okay as Daddy tries again to clean up mess numero dos.
You guessed it. Again. This time he caught more of the front of me. This is the moment my oldest starts to dry heave.
Paul and I start to laugh at him and I gather the baby in my arms. We need a bath.
Yep. Down my back. WTH! Seriously.
Now between the dry heaves of my eldest and my now vomit encased body I start to get mouthy.
“Oh, Levi. Is that all? You didn’t get my side.”
I look up and my eldest turns around and throws up…twice. The baby now vomits down my arm. He got my side.
Paul and I are now deliriously laughing. Tears are streaming. I am standing in a puddle of vomit and I cannot stop laughing. Paul is trying to wipe it up and he is shaking laughing. He gently pulls my splattered socks off of my feet so that I could retreat with the littlest to get us all cleaned up in the bathroom.
As I lay in my porcelain tub surrounded in tile, holding a child who is clearly feeling better after his vomitus eruptus, all I can think about is the sign hanging in our foyer.