“Hi, Grandpa! I BARFED-ED! I barfed-ed all over the place all night long. I barfed-ed on Mommy…on my blankie-but-Daddy-washed-it…on the floor…on my bed…”
She’s right…that’s about how it went…in round 1…
Barf. It’s gross when you have to do it yourself. It’s even worse when you’re responsible for another person’s. I’ve read the Facebook Updates crying out for mercy and praying that the stomach flu would vacate their households so that a little bit of normalcy could return. As a child, I can remember my mom going into ‘cleaning mode’ when the first piece of barf hit the floor…starting an seemingly never-ending stream of laundry, house cleaning, and sick-kid-consoling. But nothing…I mean nothing (OK, there are a lot worse things…but still…)…compares to the fear of knowing your ‘barf-time’ is coming.
Now, I know what it feels like to feel so bad for your trembling little kid that you cast all cares of your own health aside and just crawl into bed with them. That way, you can be sure you’ll be there as quick as possible to help them through the next ‘barf.’ I’m now acutely aware of exactly how long each round of flu will last, down to knowing when the last bit of throw up is out and we can get some sleep.
I now know how it feels to run out of things to disinfect and wash in the house, and start spraying actual people with Lysol. Be it lack of sleep or flu dementia…I caught myself dousing myself with it…and actually breathing in the wonderful smell of dying germs…what a moment. It was the pinnacle of something…not quite sure what.
This post will be too gross to read, I think, unless you’ve been to the Barf-o-ram-a. But if you have…you can relate to my feeling of joy in the silence between flu attacks…the space you have to rest up until the next kid gets it. As a parent, you know. You know you need that sleep, because another round is on it’s way. That’s exactly what I told my sister on the phone as I laid down to sleep…not sure she believed me…I tend to over-exaggerate sometimes to catch a laugh or two…but that time I meant it…and I was right. The very next day…round 3 began.
It’s down right heart-breaking to watch your kids get sick over and over like they do with the stomach flu. On the hour for 6 hours straight at my house. It’s even more heart wrenching to watch my little kid who can’t fully communicate yet get sick. My one and a half year old, Lo Lo, who could only cry as her little body convulsed in sickness. As if that didn’t tear my heart out, when she opened her arms and collapsed on me afterwards I became a teary eyed mess. Poor kid. Sprout on the background all night long is a snap after that…
Now, I know how it all feels.
Amazing to me, is how these little munchkins just snap right out of it. Brianne went from ‘Mommy cuddles…need more Mommy cuddles…” to “Mommy…why isn’t Disney channel on?” in a very short time. Lo, who can barely move after it was all said and done, woke up 3 hours later with, “Um-Moooommmmm….dink, please.” Unbelievable. It takes me a minimum of 2 days to recover from that crap.
So, I know how it feels…and my husband is scared to be in the house. He’s the last man standing…a “sitting duck” as he calls it. He feels doomed to get it after watching all three of us come down with it in exact time a part.
Here’s hoping, babe. If not…don’t worry…I’ve got my trusty can of Lysol and I know how to use it.