The pitter pat of footsteps are every mothers joy, the thought of cuddles, squishy kisses and a squeaky sounding, eye-rubbing foggy good morning. Unless of course the pitter pat is a pitter pound which we all hear from across the house – while a child is making a hard dash to the closest toilet…to get sick. Mass confusion, bare feet calculating every step to miss any possible spots that didn’t make it to the toilet, telling our child it is going to be okay, while internally telling ourselves to not throw up as well. Rubbing their backs, holding their hair, running for water, a towel, pony tail holder (for them and us), all still while walking on our tippy toes.
Our house got slammed by the every giving flu bug and its counterparts this year. First the oldest of two boys, who missed the toilet, but managed to the get the walls, my daughters bedroom door (which was closed thank god), the hallway, the bathroom door and the bathroom floor. Luckily his father and I were a team, because let me tell you – it was horrible. Poor kid threw up the one time, and bounced back the next day like nothing, while my stomach was still turning as if it was the gravitron ride from the local fair.
Then two nights later it hits again, only this time its my daughter. She ever so sweetly climbs in my bed and whispers “Mommy I don’t feel very good” which is met by my over zealous attempt at setting a new record at the high jump as I catapult over her, running to the kitchen grabbing the biggest bowl, and a mad dash back in case – in the next minute she decides to reek havoc anywhere near my bed. Once, I’ve returned and all is still in tact, I get her tucked in beside me, a bowl firmly placed beside her and we sleep for an hour. Then were both up and running to the toilet, her long beautiful blond hair in my hand – and we just have to sit there and let this yucky bug take over for three or so minutes, and then a rinse of the mouth, sip of gatorade, and back to bed for about an hour, only to repeat four or five more times. Then as the morning comes, she is back to life of the living, and I’ve reprised my role in night of the living dead, and the previous nights gravitron stomach twirling.
Mom’s handle sickness differently than anyone out there, we keep moving, we don’t have the luxury of staying in bed most often. The kids still have to eat, still need to be taken care of to a certain extent – so although on the inside we feel like death warmed over, we keep going. Which often can makes us look like we’re not really sick, and still capable of well…cooking dinner, cleaning the house…being normal. However, when the sickness has made its way fully through the house (youngest son spared) and to the “I never get sick” man of the house…watch out. The flu bug or its counterpart morphs into a sickness I like to call “manchild disease” and for all intensive purposes the world ends. Literally, it implodes, and for three days this previously capable and strong man – revisits his toddler days where all he can do is sleep, whine and eat.
Truth is, vomit is disgusting, down right undeniably the worse, it’s the worse to do, to see be done, to hear, to smell…oh my dear heavens it is horrible! So, today I am thankful its packed its bag and moved on. From our house to yours, stay tuned to whatever is around the corner.