(WARNING: this post is about vomit and poop. Don't read if you have a weak stomach or are eating something. I won't be offended. Seriously.)
Yesterday morning I posted this little bon mot on facebook:
Here's a parenting milestone you won't find in any of those 'What To Expect' books: the first time your kid actually recognizes the urge to vomit, makes it to the toilet and pukes unassisted.
The reason I posted this was because Sam informed me, around 7:45am, that he had thrown up after midnight. I commended him for his ability to handle the situation on his own, and hoped it was an isolated event.
The universe, she has a sick sense of humor.
Fifteen minutes later, as he was sitting on the floor (the wood floor, thank god) eating some toast, he had a little gas that was accompanied with more than a little poo. After a clean-up and some new clothes, we discussed that perhaps if he felt like he was going to fart, he should go to the toilet just in case. Turned out to be sage advice. There were many, many more 'sharting' incidents during the morning. But during the latter part of the day he seemed fine. Which is why I didn't think twice about giving him pizza and strawberries for dinner.
We found out at 1:15am what a terrible mistake that was. He said he felt like he had to burp, but then he puked. Only this time, he didn't make it to the toilet. And when he started down the stairs to inform us of the puke all over his bed and floor, he started puking some more, all over the rug, stairs, wall and hand rail. And himself, naturally.
We got him and his room cleaned up, but about three hours later he had another 'sharting' incident. After another change of clothes, I fell into bed for three or four minutes before Fred woke up for a random boob snack request. WTF, little guy?
Since I knew Sam wasn't going to school today I let him sleep while I got the girls breakfast. As soon as I got them situated at the table, I heard the cat retching in the living room. Needless to say, I was PISSED. So as I was sopping a huge puddle of cat vomit out of my living room rug, Maggie started to cry. I couldn't see her from where I was, so I had no idea that she had just upchucked all over herself, the kitchen table and the floor. It was at that point that I began weeping.
Lucy, somehow, seemed unaffected, so I took her to school. As soon as we got home Maggie filled her diaper with some sort of rotting toxic sludge. And when Freddie woke up from his nap he was covered in regurgitated blueberry applesauce. I've locked the cat outside for the time being, and I'm just waiting for the phone to ring with the call to pick up Lucy. SOB and I are fine at the moment, but I'm not very optimisit about our outlook.
On the bright side, this might help jump start that weight loss plan I've been working on.