Bodies are amazing things. The intricate workings of which I do not remotely understand, but still they amaze me. That I somehow conceived and bore these children amazes me. That one of said children can consume and then expel such a large volume of fluids amazes me most of all. Especially when he expels it all over me.
Thursday night I was sick. The husband was out and I was home alone putting both kids to bed. In retrospect the fact that the girl had a complete meltdown and cried through dinner should have been a sign that something was wrong. Missed that. Instead I made them sit through dinner before taking them up to bed. By the time pajamas were on she was exhausted. Still, she mustered enough energy to resist sleeping in her bed. Finally, finally she feel asleep in her brother's bed and slept through my moving her back to her own. The boy was harder to get to sleep. He was persistent in his resistance. I think it was some kind of test to my endurance because as soon as he was asleep I walked out of his room, down the stairs to the kitchen and grabbed a bowl. I threw up once, twice, three times.
Amazing. My body knew what it needed to do, but kindly waited until I was done doing what I needed to do. I guess I should be thankful for that. However, the husband is never allowed to go out at night ever again. The last time I had to put the boy to bed myself so he could go out I threw up then too. Twice may not make a pattern, but it is pattern enough for me.
Friday morning I stayed in bed. The husband went to work late, allowing me to recover from the violence of the illness. The rest of the day was fine. We all muddled through.
Friday night I sat on the boy's bed nursing him, looking forward to a few minutes to myself once he was asleep, when he unlatched and threw up all over my chest and arms. A lot. I managed to identify orange pieces.
I screamed. It seemed the only appropriate reaction. The girl, who wasn't asleep yet, sat up in bed and the husband came running up the stairs. There were outfit changes for both of us and a new set of sheets for the bed.
We settled back into the bedtime routine. The girl fell asleep. The boy asked to nurse, and well, you can imagine how that ended. This time he managed to turn his head enough so that he threw up on the bed and not on me. Still, two more outfit changes and a new set of sheets for the bed. This time the husband put him to sleep and I sat downstairs wondering how many more times he would throw up before he was better.
The answer so far is nine. Three more times in the night, five times during the day and then once when I nursed him tonight before bed. Because I don't seem to learn. But I am not going to take it personally. He may throw up on me, repeatedly, but he also loves me like crazy.