Friday, November 4, 2011

Today We Barf

Warning: if you are sensitive to talk of vomit stop now. You won't make it. I wrote it and rereading it is making me a little queasy....


Lady Baby is under the weather. By under the weather I mean she is barfing like a chick after drinking games with tequila at Katie Hill's lake house summer of '97. (It happened to my friend.) In the wee hours of the morning she provided us with a lovely wake-up call of screaming. Loud and insistent Ma-Ma's. This occurred 30 minutes after I had finally gotten her back in her crib after a night of up and down, starting at 12:30. So kind to allow me a full and restful half hour in my bed before she hurled her guts out all over herself, her crib, her Mickey, and her potty book. Turns out the copious amounts of spit-up her first year of life did nothing to toughen her up for the stomach flu. She hates to throw up as much as the rest of us. There are many things I hate to find in my child's hair. Vomit wins.


I need this on my shirt.
We thought that maybe the milk she had for her 2am snack was bad. That *may* have happened once before, when she drank milk that *may* have been out too long. I will neither confirm nor deny. However, bad milk was not the culprit this time. Immediately after 3 sips of water, she leaned over and spewed again. This time ALL OVER ME. Not the best way to ease into the morning at 5:45am. I much prefer coffee and maybe a little Facebook. Instead I got to gag my way through the next fifteen minutes trying to deal with her, my clothes, the couch and the floor.  TGIF baby, TGIF. For those that know me for reals, you know that I am very smell sensitive. You also know that my post pregnancy gag reflex is more taut than the Hub's nerves during a Wolfpack football game. Being doused with milk vomit almost put me over the edge this fine morning.


The worst part is not the pukage. That is saying a lot because it is BAD. Seeing my sweet flower cry and rub her belly, saying, "boo-boo, tummy" over and over is horrible. {Side note: If she ever says this in your presence, batten down the hatches and prepare for epic barfage. Perhaps find a raincoat.} Per the pediatrician's nurse, I have to let her tummy rest for two whole hours after she throws up before she can have one teaspoon of water. Yes, my friends, one measly teaspoon. Unfortunately, the two teaspoons she had spaced at exactly 15 minutes apart, per Nurse Ratchet's instructions, did not stay down. Back to the two hour wait. I started crying when my Toodles was begging me for water and it wasn't time. I told her it wasn't me, it was the nurse that hated her, but she didn't seem to care. Seeing her hurting and thirsty and sad and there is literally nothing I can do to help--that is the worst part.


The only upside is she is very happy to lay on the couch and chillax. As long as we are snuggling, she is content watching TV. I can only hope and pray that On Demand Mickey, DJ Lance, Blue, and Elmo will pull us through. I can only assume it was my amazing karma that kept me from canceling the cable at the end of October. (Though I did get doused with yesterday's dinner, so maybe it is not so great after all.) I guess my mommy guardian angel knew there was major regurgitation in my immediate future. While Her Highness naps beside me I get to blog, read, and watch TV. I will always find that silver lining. In this case it is an excuse for a lie-in of slothly proportions.


While we take turns barfing and cleaning up said barf, the DaDa is running his first half marathon. In Savannah. Five and a half hours away. With my best friend and her husband. Staying at my parent's house. Grrrr. I am missing secret fun. I hate to miss secret fun. Alas, this is what it is to be a parent. It is to hold down the fort when it is being ravaged by the stomach flu. It is to only cry a little when your spouse leaves for the weekend during said flu. It is to sit beside your sad sick girl and listen to her sob and beg for a drink. It is to jump and dive with a towel in hand every time she burps (which has happened a lot and is very wearing on my nerves.)  We love our babes whether they are happy and running around the park or crying and laying in our laps. It is our job to get the boogies, wipe the bottoms and hold their hair back when the barf. At least college prepared me for one out of three. 


I pray to the gods in charge of barfing children that this is a short lived flu. No dehydration, no visit to the ped, no all nighter. I ask for calm tummys, sleep, and no more vomit. Amen.
I pray for no more hurlage.





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