Tales of Vomit and Moms Who Can’t Win

I woke up at 12:30 in the morning to throw up. I knew it was coming when I went to bed, but hoped that I'd be able to fight it off. I am a champ at overcoming nausea after four less than wonderful pregnancies, after all. But this virus won. And it was violent.

I went to check on my oldest, Hunter, who had been sent to bed with a bowl when he said he wasn't feeling too hot either. I hadn't heard a peep from him yet, so I figured he must have gotten luckier than me. Or not.

I peeked up at him on the top bunk and stopped dead in my tracks. He was covered from his waist up in vomit. It was on his face, in his hair, all over his shirt, covering both of his pillows, and all over his sheets and blankets. I tapped him, slightly panicked, to make sure he was breathing. He stirred, apparently still completely unaware of the mess he was lying in. And irony of all ironies, the bowl that was in his bed for him to throw up in was as clean as a whistle. Awesome.

I stood there trying to figure out how I was going to clean this mess up as sick as I was. My husband was already lying with our fussy baby (who was already past the flu bug) because I couldn't handle her constant wiggling, nauseous as I was.

While I stood there trying to muster up the energy and fortitude to clean up my seven year old and his bed, I happened to glance down at Tanner. I audibly gasped.

Hunter's excessive vomiting, which I now realized was projectile, had come down the wall and actually deflected off onto Tanner. He had puke in his hair and all over both of his pillows. He was, of course, sleeping through the whole episode as well because why on Earth would something as disgusting as a bedroom full of vomit wake anyone from a restful slumber.

I turned on the light only to discover that it had slid down the wall onto an electrical outlet and onto the carpet underneath the bunk bed as well. Should I be laughing? It's the only thing I could think of. And I knew how stupid the question was. No, this is most definitely not funny.

I woke Tanner first and threw him in the shower. I stripped his bed and threw his bedding in the washing machine. Then I made two beds on my living room floor. I woke up Hunter and told him to take his clothes off and leave them on the bed and then to climb down and hop in the shower. I pull Tanner out of the shower, help him get clean pajamas on and put him in his new "bed."

Right in the middle of this Hunter starts screaming. Well, it was more like disgusted squealing, really, but who's to say.

"This is disgusting! Get it off of me!" (insert uncontrollable sobbing here)

"I know it's disgusting, Hunter. You threw up in your sleep, remember? I just told you that. Pull those clothes off and climb down so I can get you in the shower. Hurry, it's already running."

"I can't touch it! Somebody help me!"

"Hunter, Mommy is throwing up too. I cannot climb up there and fight you over this. Please, pull off your clothes and come down."

"This is too disgusting! I'm going to throw up!"

I would've laughed if I hand't been so nauseous. "Hunter, you already did throw up. If you think your shirt is bad, you should see your face and hair. Now pull those clothes off. The shower's going to get cold."

I wish I was lying when I said that this charade went on for at least 10 minutes. He was hysterical and I was nauseous and getting incredibly mad. I finally told him that he could lay there and sleep in his own vomit if he wanted to, but that I was not climbing up there or turning off the shower. I walked away and the clothes magically started flying off the boy. Of course, the hysterical sobbing also increased, but what else did he want me to do?

So he's finally in the shower and I'm standing there in his room trying to figure out what to do. The whole bunk bed would have to be moved. I was going to have to rent a carpet cleaner for sure. Good grief, someone open a window in this dang place.

More hysteria from the bathroom.

"MOM! The shower is cold!" (Teeth chattering mixed with incessant sobbing)

I peek in only to see that he's still washed nothing. His arms, face, and hair are still covered in puke. Awesome. "Well, I hate to tell you this buddy, but you're still going to have to get washed. You need to scrub your hair, face, and body and you need to do it right now."

"NO! I'm freezing! Why'd you let the shower get cold!"

Oh, good grief. You know, I'm a mom and I'm fully used to everything being my fault, but seriously, I'm too nauseous to humor you on this one. "Hunter, I told you this was going to happen. I can't do anything about it. You have to wash the puke off of yourself."

But, no. He just stood there out of the stream, teeth chattering and obnoxiously crying.

"Okay, have it your way." I grabbed the shower head and proceeded to hose him down, scrub his hair, etc., etc., all the while listening to his wailing.

Once that little fiasco was finished I wrapped him in a towel and sent him into his room to put on clean pajamas. I walked out to see if the washing machine was miraculously finished running by some slim chance. Nope. Not even halfway. It wasn't the first time that I'd wished I  had a full-sized laundromat right inside my own house. I decided right then and there that I was opening their bedroom window and shutting the door until I could do the next load. And lest you think I'm completely insane, there are protective sheets on all of my kids mattresses so it's not like the damage was going to get worse.

I walk back into the room to find Hunter lying on the floor in his towel and puking on the carpet. "Are you serious, Hunter!? What are you doing!?"

"I had to throw up. I didn't mean to."

"Uh, and since when are you incapable of throwing up in a toilet!? You've done it for years!"

"I don't know. I'm cold!"

OH. MY. GOSH. Okay, that's it. I quit. I wiped up the puke off the carpet by his closet, threatened him that if he wasn't dressed and in the living room in the next 15 seconds that he would be sorry, and promptly went and stuck my head in a toilet. Once I was done pulling every muscle in my body, I went out to the living room. Hunter was sound asleep in his new bed. Weird. But good.

I threw up all night. He threw up all night (in his bowl this time, thank goodness). In the morning he asked why he didn't have any pillows.

"Uh, do you not remember what happened last night? You puked all over them . . . and your bed and yourself and your brother and his bed and the wall and the carpet. You also hysterically took a cold shower and then deliberately puked on the carpet in front of your closet."

Silence.

"Weird. I don't remember that, but I'm feeling better, I think."

 

5 thoughts on “Tales of Vomit and Moms Who Can’t Win

  1. Sarah

    I commend you fro trying to deal with it all in the middle of the night. I have gotten to the point where I would have shut the door and let it all wait until the morning. And, I love that one of your tags for this is "vomit."

    Also, my absolute biggest pet peeve, the one that will push me over the edge EVERY time is getting the blame for something, anything, everything. Nothing makes me want to quit more.

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  2. Ever heard of anti-emetics? I`d take them at the first sign of nausea, & give them to the rest of the family too, in that situation. there`s really no need to go through all that!

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