Sunday, September 6, 2009

I Feel the Love

WARNING: Graphic scenes described may be objectionable to some readers. If you are not or have never been a mother to young children, you may want to quit reading. Consider yourself warned.

Wednesday morning, I gave Joey his normal sippy cup full of chocolate milk. He downed it in 2.4 seconds, burped, and threw the whole thing up all over my kitchen floor. I looked at it, blinked, and was thankful that we were still in the kitchen on the tile floor. As a bonus, he managed to not even get any on himself or me. I admit it was strange how there was no warning - no gagging, just a burp and copious amounts of vomit being spewed on the floor, like a baby might spit up, except, you know, much more volume and stinkiness. I cleaned it up, and we went about our day. He acted fine, playing, being happy, just not eating anything for about 2 days.

Thursday night, I went to bed at 10 o'clock, and I think the last time I did that I was 9 years old. At 11:15, Lily-Grace came in, crying that her tummy hurt. She climbed in beside me, and I rubbed her back for a while, and then I decided I would try to take her back to her room. We got to her doorway, and she started to vomit. I just stood there beside her, holding her hair back, and trying to decide if I should risk trying to get her to the bathroom that was a few feet away. Would it work? Would I be able to successfully get her to the toilet before the next wave of vomit came, or would I only pick her up and she would start to vomit on the way there, and I would have a path of vomit to clean up instead of a relatively contained area? These are the thoughts that go through my head while my child is vomiting. In the end, I decided not to risk it since we have wood floors throughout the house. Have I mentioned how nice that is? I give thanks for those floors numerous times a week. However, while it does make for easy clean-up, it also makes for a very high splash-factor. That vomit was all over both of our legs, the wall, the door, the bedside table, and of course all over the floor.

I called for Steve, and we fall into our well-oiled routine. I take the child who has thrown up into the bathroom to clean them up, and he starts to clean up the mess. I love that man. Since she was wearing long pants, I decide we can forego the bath till the morning. I wash her hands and face and feet, get clean pajamas, and take her back to her bed which was still clean. I give her a bowl and a rag, and tell her to please try to get it in the bowl if she has to throw up again if she can't make it to the bathroom, which of course is the best option. Steve has gotten most of the mess, but it still stinks to high heaven, so I get some cleaner and spray the floor to get it a little better. I wash my own legs and feet and head back to bed, wondering how long I will get to sleep before the next episode. I foolishly hope that maybe hers will be as easy as Joey's was, and it will be an isolated incident. Three more trips into her room that night put those hopes to rest quickly. Change the sheets, wash the child, put the sheets on to wash, go back to bed, lather, rinse, repeat. The next morning, Steve found her asleep on the rug at the end of her bed, a small amount of vomit on her pillow. Bless her heart. I guess I didn't hear her, and she was too tired to come and get me. So she has laid around looking like this for the past few days, with occasional bouts of playfulness, just enough so I think she is getting better.

Last night, Steve woke up feeling awful. He never threw up, but I could tell he felt terrible. He has to preach two sermons this morning. I feel just awful for him. I'm praying he gets through it without having to run out in the middle of it. We were all dressed and ready for church this morning, although I wasn't sure if Lily-Grace should really be going, but she hasn't thrown up since Friday afternoon, so I think she shouldn't be contagious. We are about to walk out the door when Levi suddenly grabs his stomach and says he doesn't feel so good. Sigh. At least he made it to the toilet. You have to celebrate the small things during times like this.
I just want to know one thing - how does everyone else get this when I am the one cleaning up all the vomit, cuddling with the sick children, kissing their little sick heads and faces? It just doesn't make sense. Sam & I are the only hold-outs, and I told him to stay strong. We'll see.
I came into my room to eat some breakfast so Lily wouldn't have to smell it - she has been very sensitive to smells during all this, and I feel bad, but it's not like I can tell the rest of the family that they don't get to eat just because Lily can't take the smells. So, while I was eating in my room, Lily-Grace came in there to ask me to please come into the living room so she could sit in my lap. I told her I would come in there as soon as I finished eating. She eyed my food with disgust and walked quickly out of the room. As she was leaving she said, "Brush your teeth before you come hold me."
Thanks. I feel the love.


  1. Bless your heart, I hope as I type this, you are not huddled around the toilet or curled in a fetal position on the rug next to your bed. Ryder used to projectile vomit weiners. You know, those things really are full of preservatives. Take care....

  2. Is this what having children is all about? Because I might have to rethink my whole game plan.

    I'm glad to hear your baby is doing well! Its amazing the things that go thru your head during a diagnosis. Its so nice getting to know you!

    I am loving your blog, even though most of what I've read is about vomit :P