This post contains TMI. Real life tidbits of well, puke.
You’ve been warned.
It’s 1am and I am startled awake by heavy breathing in my left ear. Not the sexy kind, the kind that comes from the sneaky little short people that live in my house. My baby has tip toed into my room, she didn’t want to wake me but did want me to know her “tummy didn’t feel well at all, and she was super dizzy”. Oh crap.
I love almost all things about being a Mommy but I do hate the “I’m gonna puke” declaration. So what do I try and do? Talk her out of it.
“Oh baby, maybe you just need a little water?”
“Do you have a headache?”
“Have you even slept yet? Maybe you are just super tired?”
As I try and talk her OUT of being sick…her little feet make a dash for the toilet bowl. Let the puking begin.
72 hours of vomit and Lysol. Ice chips and extra laundry. Pedialyte and too much children’s TV programing. Finally the introduction of crackers and soup. I hate the flu, but see light at the end of this long pukey tunnel. Three days of this crap and I only had to talk myself out of vomiting five or six times. Not winning Mother of the year with this stat, but not bad.
Except it’s not. As I tuck myself into bed, turn off the late night news…I hear the padding of more little feet. Oh yah, I have two kids. Daughter number two now has the flu. Sigh. She would not be talked out of it. (no matter how hard I tried to convince her she was not going to be sick)
Here we go again.
So this post is courtesy of six straight days of vomit and Lysol, sleep deprivation and just a wee bit of feeling sorry for myself.
This is real life in the suburbs, just trying to share some of my ridiculous glamour.