The Art of Puking

Call it what you want: vomiting, throwing up, puking, barfing, upchucking, regurgitating - but I'm going to call it disgusting and something that just took 2 weeks of my life!

The motherly instinct in women tells us to comfort our sick child, hold their hair back while they heave over the toilet, lay with them and rub them even if the reek of nastiness, and to tell them that it's okay if they accidentally miss the toilet. But that last thing there, that was hard to do.

One of my beautiful daughters, who shall remain nameless, found the art in throwing up in every possible place: carpet, couch, bed, etc. It didn't matter that there were towels and buckets surrounding her. She was able to go around those and soil the uncovered surfaces. She was really quite amazing at it. And we won't talk about what the other end of her body was capable of.

So as a mother that is supposed to comfort her child no matter what, I was feeling guilty for getting a little upset with her, telling her, "As SOON as you get that feeling, then run to the bathroom." She tried many times. Failing each and every time.

A few days later the other beautiful daughter, that shall also remain nameless, got the bug. I begged and pleaded with her to make it to the toilet explaining that then all I had to do wash flush it down. No laundry. No scrubbing with resolve carpet cleaner. No changing sheets...again.

In the middle of the night, she comes into my room. "Mom, I threw up and I couldn't make it down the stairs of the bunk bed."

Ugh.

Sam went to take her bedding off and clean up the mess while I stayed with her in the bathroom. He came back to tell me that he couldn't feel anything on her bed or even the stairs. So I went to check. Keep in mind that the other sister is sleeping on the bottom bunk, so I only had the light of the hallway. I eased myself up the stairs and felt all over her bed, around the millions of blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals, gritting my teeth as if when I finally touch it, it will burn my hand off or something. But nothing. I sigh with relief. I explain to her that it must have been a dream or something, but to be safe, we would make her a bed on the couch. I go to get her pillow off her bed, reaching up from the side of the bed (rather than climbing back up the stairs) and I step in it. All over the floor. She literally puked over the railing onto the floor.

I kept my cool. And I showed lots of love. But I had a hard time understanding how difficult it was to get to the bathroom before it was too late!

And then I got the bug. And then I understood.

And now 2 weeks later I am thanking God that we are done with it!