Warning: This post has a lot of puke in it. So, if you’re squeamish about stuff like that, stop here. If you’re cool with puke and want to live vicariously through one of my worst parenting experiences to date, read on. Okay, not quite as bad as this one, or maybe this one, but still nothing I ever want to repeat.
My husband left for a business trip yesterday. I dropped my 3 year-old off at school, brought the Fuzz home for a few hours, then picked up the Shnook and brought him to his first playdate with one of his classmates. The girl he played with was super cute and sweet, and also had a little sister the same age as Fuzz.
When we got there I pulled everyone out of the car and noticed that Fuzz had an enormous poo in his diaper. Awesome. Of course, I realized that this could just as easily have happened to them so it wasn’t a big deal at all. I changed him and all was right.
Then suddenly I felt like I kept smelling poo everywhere. I thought maybe I accidentally got some on my sleeve or something, which would’ve been strange, but nonetheless, I went to rinse off my sweater, just in case.
Suddenly I realized where the poo smell was coming from.
Out to the car I went, to get some extra clothes for the Shnook. He doesn’t have accidents very often, so there was something a little suspect here. But he seemed fine after we changed.
Never mind that now both my offspring have pooped within twenty minutes of entering our new friends’ house. Maybe I should have a go just to seal the deal?
I didn’t do that, in case you were wondering. Both boys had snacks with the girls and then played outside until it got dark.
Then suddenly, Shnook came up to me and said: “Mommy, my tummy doesn’t feel well.”
That was our cue to leave. Shnook doesn’t EVER complain that he’s sick, unless he’s pretending and wants to take medicine when his brother is having some. I saddled everyone up as quickly as possible, and drove the 12 minutes back to our house.
After I cut the engine, Shnook politely and quietly asked me to get him out of the car first. I obliged and unlocked the kitchen door for him as I went to retrieve Fuzz from his car seat. I knew I didn’t have much time because boy, oh boy, did that Shnook look grey in the face!
I was still in the driveway when Shnook came back into the doorway, crying, and vomiting. Right on the threshold.
He proceeded to vomit all the way through the kitchen, through the front hallway, into the living room and finally through the back hallway to the bathroom.
Luckily we have mostly hardwood floors.
Meanwhile, I was in a panic. What should I do? My husband wasn’t home.There was a river of puke running through my house. If I put the sixteen-month-old down so I could be with the older guy, he would be sliding around in puke in about 30 seconds. If I put him in his crib, he would scream his head off and maybe even start vomiting himself. Plus, I wasn’t sure how long this whole vomiting episode would last. I couldn’t even close our kitchen door because of all the vomit. I decided it would be best to run Fuzz over to my neighbor’s while I took care of Shnook and the mess.
….and the neighbors weren’t home. Damn.
I just needed to act. I put Fuzz down and he miraculously stayed away from the mess I was trying to clean, probably because I was acting like a maniac: “DON’T COME NEAR HERE, OKAY?? MOMMY SAYS NO! PLEASE STAND BACK! THIS IS VERY YUCKY STUFF!”
Shnook was quietly waiting in the bathroom, and seemed to be done with his episode. Not a drop in the bathroom, let alone the toilet, by the way.
When I had stripped us all down to our skivvies, put everything (including SHOES) into the washing machine, and every surface had been sprayed and wiped, and sprayed and wiped, and sprayed and wiped again, I called Shnook’s new friend’s mom to tell her about the incident.
So, when do you think we’ll be invited back?
Anyone else wanna share some barf stories?
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