Remember when I got a case of the barfs during the final game of the World Series, aka one of the biggest days in my husband’s life? That was fun. Know what was more fun? Penny had a similar stomach flu this past weekend, poor gal!
She’d been sorta punky for a couple of days, sleeping badly (as I think I noted here), but I thought that was a function of her trying to drop a nap. On Saturday morning, she was running in place with excitement when my husband said she was going to accompany him to pick up my stepkids, Max and Eli. All was well: they got home, had lunch, and played for a while, and then Randy and the big kids headed out to see the new Harry Potter movie (the kids had seen it, but not with dad).
I was having quiet time with both girls in Penny’s bedroom when I heard the telltale cough-spill sound. Oh no. I hugged Penny– she had no idea what was going on – as her stomach emptied onto me and the carpet, and she cried from confusion and fright. I calmly put the baby down, cleaned up Penny, cleaned up the floor, threw some baking soda down, and cleaned myself. In that order.
Then we settled down for some quiet time. And it happened again. “Mac and cheese,” Penny exclaimed mournfully, as she gazed into the bathroom sink that I ran to, barfer in tow, feeling like a fireman with an out-of-control hose. I texted Randy, who said something along the lines of “okay, I’ll pick up seltzer on my way home from the movies.”
Fair enough, I thought. I cleaned it up, I cleaned us up. Now Abby needed to nurse and Penelope was downright hysterical. Then she threw up again. On the baby. Who was nursing at the time.
GET HOME RT NOW DAMMT, I typed into my phone, holding it away from both wailing, barf-covered girls. CAB NOW PLZ. DO NOT MAKE ME BEG.
Randy got a refund on the tickets and was home before Barf #4 of a grand total of 11 (I think – I lost count sometime between mucous and green bile). Eli scampered off and made himself scarce, poor guy, but Max changed into “won’t-matter-if-I-get-barfed-on” clothes so he could distract her while I cleaned up (again) and his dad vacuumed up the various white-powdered puddles in the carpet.
His reward for this? He’s home from school today, barfing.
Oh, all the poor babies!
Some twitter friends of mine were dealing with flu, too! Did you? Would you have called them home from the movies, or am I just a big barf-covered baby?