Waiting for Godot
Actually, I'm waiting for Lauren to throw up.
You read that right.
She started this about an hour ago; so far she's yarked three times, so I'm waiting for about two more before I attempt to go to bed. She's getting hotter to the touch and getting a slight case of the chills, so of course Doug's running screaming from her (he's got a bit of a sickness phobia, but I'm not sure I blame him. When he gets an illness from one of the kids it seems to stick with him longer than it does with the kids. And he's more than a bit loathe to miss work.), and that leaves me on sentry duty.
Lauren wants to come in and sleep in our bed. Har-de-har-har, little one. No chance. Especially seeing as your sheets are in the wash as we speak!
I was getting ready for bed when I heard a bit of a shout and Lauren appeared at the door of our bedroom, naked and in tears. "My tummy hurts!" she wails. I rubbed her back, I called her a "poor thing," I shuffled her into the bathroom (the site of so many moments of unpleasantness in life) and asked if she felt like throwing up. She reported no, tried to potty, went back to bed, still sobbing about a sad tummy. Suddenly she states, "I think I hafta frow up," so I scoop her up under the arms and deposit her back in the bathroom. She stands there trembling in front of the toilet. I grab the step-stool that the kids use to climb up on to wash their hands and put it in front of the toilet. "Here, have a seat," I tell her. She sits, then makes a horrible, hollow sort of sound and blorks into the toilet. She's horrified and revulsed by the aftermath of how her mouth, nose and throat feel. I try cleaning her up, then we trot back off to bed after a drink. Ten minutes later she throws that up, happily this time hitting the plastic trash can which I have placed at her bedside. Again, she's horrified, we get her cleaned up. I go rinse out the trash can, replace it, get her back in bed all covered up.
I decide that since my nostrils are filled with that vile smell anyway, I might as well do another olifactory-offensive job: clean out the litterboxes. I finish up one box as Doug comes upstairs. I finish up, wash up, and go check on Lauren again. I go away, I come back...and she immediately throws up in her bed. Damn!
I clean her up and strip the bed while Doug gets socks on her. (For Pete's sake, WHY? Because he's attempting to stave off the chills. Apparently wearing socks does that for him. I personally don't get it, but hey, who's gonna quibble about socks? I got her stuff into the washing machine and start that running, then re-outfit her bed with towels.
At 3:11 a.m., she throw up again. This time she made the trash can again, so cleanup was minimal, though I DID transfer her stuff into the dryer. That's the secret to keeping up with a sick child...once the kid pukes the bed, all bets are off. Forget about remaking it nicely, and for God's sake, keep the laundry going. You'll probably have to remake the bed five or six times, so resign yourself to it early on. Put the first set of sheets in the wash and re-outfit the bed with durable, easily-stripped stuff...for us that's towels, or in the worst cases (either in regard to volume or the grade of nastiness of what's coming up), chux pads. Stage another set (or two) of towels in the room. When the kids throws up again, you should have the first load of wash in the dryer already. Strip off the newly-blorked towels and put them into the wash. Re-outfit the bed again with the staged stuff. By the time you run out of your third or fourth set, the first set is back out of the laundry, so it's a long, cyclical night.
3:31 a.m. she throws up yet again. Still made the trash. Go, Lauren!
Well, this is shaping up to be a long night. Now I must ask myself, is it better to stay up all night, or attempt to grab a couple of hours of sleep just before dawn? If I sleep, I'm liable to be cranky and dopey and not all good company. If I don't sleep, I'm liable to be babbling and incoherent by dinnertime tomorrow. Tonight. Whatever. But I suspect Lauren will keep this up until dawn.
Well, hey, I'll let you know. I think for now I'll go hit ebay and see if I can find good ballet shoes for little ones at a cheap price.
You read that right.
She started this about an hour ago; so far she's yarked three times, so I'm waiting for about two more before I attempt to go to bed. She's getting hotter to the touch and getting a slight case of the chills, so of course Doug's running screaming from her (he's got a bit of a sickness phobia, but I'm not sure I blame him. When he gets an illness from one of the kids it seems to stick with him longer than it does with the kids. And he's more than a bit loathe to miss work.), and that leaves me on sentry duty.
Lauren wants to come in and sleep in our bed. Har-de-har-har, little one. No chance. Especially seeing as your sheets are in the wash as we speak!
I was getting ready for bed when I heard a bit of a shout and Lauren appeared at the door of our bedroom, naked and in tears. "My tummy hurts!" she wails. I rubbed her back, I called her a "poor thing," I shuffled her into the bathroom (the site of so many moments of unpleasantness in life) and asked if she felt like throwing up. She reported no, tried to potty, went back to bed, still sobbing about a sad tummy. Suddenly she states, "I think I hafta frow up," so I scoop her up under the arms and deposit her back in the bathroom. She stands there trembling in front of the toilet. I grab the step-stool that the kids use to climb up on to wash their hands and put it in front of the toilet. "Here, have a seat," I tell her. She sits, then makes a horrible, hollow sort of sound and blorks into the toilet. She's horrified and revulsed by the aftermath of how her mouth, nose and throat feel. I try cleaning her up, then we trot back off to bed after a drink. Ten minutes later she throws that up, happily this time hitting the plastic trash can which I have placed at her bedside. Again, she's horrified, we get her cleaned up. I go rinse out the trash can, replace it, get her back in bed all covered up.
I decide that since my nostrils are filled with that vile smell anyway, I might as well do another olifactory-offensive job: clean out the litterboxes. I finish up one box as Doug comes upstairs. I finish up, wash up, and go check on Lauren again. I go away, I come back...and she immediately throws up in her bed. Damn!
I clean her up and strip the bed while Doug gets socks on her. (For Pete's sake, WHY? Because he's attempting to stave off the chills. Apparently wearing socks does that for him. I personally don't get it, but hey, who's gonna quibble about socks? I got her stuff into the washing machine and start that running, then re-outfit her bed with towels.
At 3:11 a.m., she throw up again. This time she made the trash can again, so cleanup was minimal, though I DID transfer her stuff into the dryer. That's the secret to keeping up with a sick child...once the kid pukes the bed, all bets are off. Forget about remaking it nicely, and for God's sake, keep the laundry going. You'll probably have to remake the bed five or six times, so resign yourself to it early on. Put the first set of sheets in the wash and re-outfit the bed with durable, easily-stripped stuff...for us that's towels, or in the worst cases (either in regard to volume or the grade of nastiness of what's coming up), chux pads. Stage another set (or two) of towels in the room. When the kids throws up again, you should have the first load of wash in the dryer already. Strip off the newly-blorked towels and put them into the wash. Re-outfit the bed again with the staged stuff. By the time you run out of your third or fourth set, the first set is back out of the laundry, so it's a long, cyclical night.
3:31 a.m. she throws up yet again. Still made the trash. Go, Lauren!
Well, this is shaping up to be a long night. Now I must ask myself, is it better to stay up all night, or attempt to grab a couple of hours of sleep just before dawn? If I sleep, I'm liable to be cranky and dopey and not all good company. If I don't sleep, I'm liable to be babbling and incoherent by dinnertime tomorrow. Tonight. Whatever. But I suspect Lauren will keep this up until dawn.
Well, hey, I'll let you know. I think for now I'll go hit ebay and see if I can find good ballet shoes for little ones at a cheap price.
posted by Kelly at
3:45 AM
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