I know that I’ve said there were other things that were “the part of parenting I didn’t sign up for,” but I forgot about something worse than all of them combined. Far, far, far worse.
Vomiting. Puking. Yonking. Hurling. Spewing. Barfing. Upchucking. Throwing up. Purging. Forceful expelling of the stomach contents. Blowing chunks. I’m warning you now that if you have a sensitive gag reflex or gag reading about puke, then don’t read this particular post. Go into my archives or wait for the next entry. I won’t mind. This is me venting.
I hate it when the kids yonk because usually, they don’t have their wits about them enough to make it to the toilet or a sink even if they make it to the bathroom.
My eldest is the worst. She knows she’s going to be sick, so she just gets this deer in the headlights look and announces what’s about to happen. I encourage her (that’s a nice way to say STRONGLY URGE WITH SHOUTING) to get herself to the bathroom. I remind her every time. Tonight was really bad.
“Make it to the sink or toilet if you can! PLEASE!”
“Ohk…. uh oh…”
Next to the couch. Moments later…
In the foyer. Seconds later…
Almost in the kitchen sink, but not. Nano-seconds later…
Almost in the toilet, but not.
Turkey. Mashed potatoes. Gravy.
I had to use a fucking shop vac, people. A shop vac. But let me just extoll the virtues of not having carpeting in the house and having wood floors and a slate foyer. Awesome for clean-ups. AWE. SOME.
My youngest daughter rocks the party because she knows how horrible I am with cleaning up yonk and she helped me with the shop vac while I filled the bucket with hot water and disinfectant cleaner. She wanted to mop too but … well … erp. She’s not quite coordinated enough yet. My back is burning, but everything is clean. And Anna even apologized for her sister getting sick. I heart her.
The sick girl showered and went to bed. And she apologized for getting sick. I heart her too.
I put this up on Facebook because I was so grossed out. Had to share the love, you know?
Of course my MOM suggests it was my food. No, sorry Mom… body aches and fever and white as a ghost. Not my cooking. And by the way, THANK GOD IT’S NOT MY COOKING. I couldn’t handle this with three of them being sick like that at the same time.
I seriously considered leaving it for The Mister to clean up, but he’s working. When the kids were little and barfed up yogurt or whatever in their high chair, I seriously had to leave it for him to do. But now there are the cats and it was pretty much my whole downstairs. The horror.
Are you gagging? Think about spring lilacs. I am.
My sense of smell is horrible, so I had to ask Gracie if the house smelled sick.
“No it smells like disin… disinfecting… stuff. Cleaning. You know. Disinfecting cleaning stuff.”
Then she stopped talking to me. I don’t blame her, I’m obsessing over this. I’m just not good about it. I’m a bad puke-mom. I admit it. Some moms can’t handle blood. For me it’s puke. Please be gentle.