Confessions

We aren’t going to church this beautiful Sunday morning (I’ll explain), so I felt the intense urge to embrace the Catholic ritual of confession. Instead of a dimly lit, private confessional, I’m using the internet. That’s just as private, right? 

Here’s my confession: I am a terrible, awful, down right rotten mommy-nurse! 

Seriously, y’all, it’s bad! If by some crazy spoof I was in the running for “Mother of the Year” award, I’m officially disqualified now that the stomach bug has found our little house. Let me paint you a picture...

Thursday night, we all went to bed happy and healthy. I was looking forward to not having to run out the door to take Asher to school and actually being able to get some stuff done around the house.

Friday morning I am awakened by the sweet sound of, “Mommy! MOMMY! My belly hurts!”  I drag myself out of bed and fuss for Asher to go to the bathroom and go back to bed. He obeys and then, of course, starts throwing up IN his bed. Vomit and bedding... my favorite combination!

I’m usually not a squeamish person, BUT I. do. not. do. vomit. well. Guess who is the only person in our house capable of cleaning up vomit. Yep, you nailed it, ME! You so smart!

When there is vomit involved, I am not nice. For some reason, it’s like I’m personally offended by the vomit. I know they don’t do it on purpose and in fact cannot help it at all, but try to tell my stomach that! And I know I should be sympathetic and sweet, but y’all... it’s vomit. Immediately, my face goes into involuntary “this is totally disgusting” mode, I’m holding back my own vomit and “Ughhhhh... bleh... Ewwww!” is slipping out between held breaths. Clean up cannot go fast enough and people cannot get far enough out of the way. If it's covered in vomit, washable and cost less than $15 it's probably going in the trash. 

Once I do get it cleaned up, I know I should go snuggle in close to my sick child and kiss their sweaty head while they continue to deposit last night’s partially digested dinner into the toilet, but my senses are being assaulted and apparently my senses are cowards. The most I can muster is a back rub with an outstretched arm. My affectionate word choices include, “Are you done, baby?” and “Do you feel better now?” Internally, these are pleading prayers for a end to the nastiness. 

After the first episode of upchuck, I am anxiously awaiting the next, because it’s rarely just one... that would be too easy. I watch the culprit patient very carefully for any sign of impending sickness. If they open their mouth for more than 2 seconds I am sprinting across the room with a bowl and frantically asking, “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick again?” Avoiding vomit clean up at all costs is vital!

So, Asher had the bug all day Friday. He got very efficient at using the provided bowl. I love my Pampered Chef mixing bowls by the way... maybe this one a tad bit less now though. For the record I did not make him sleep on the floor. That was his choice. 

Last night and today was Brayden’s time to shine. Lance went to a friends house last night for some bearded buddy time, so I took the boys to Burger King for an ice cream cone, because they are good and they are 69 cents. 

Immediately upon finishing his ice cream, like not even 30 seconds after his last bite, Brayden said his belly hurt. We have a bit of a “boy who cried wolf” situation with Brayden and belly aches. He usually gets them when we are asking him to finish his meal and they magically go away when people mention dessert. So my oh so sympathetic reply was, “Reeeeally?!?!” He said it really hurt so we headed home. I put the boys in bed and Brayden started screaming that his belly hurt bad. 

Now, you have to understand something else about Brayden. He acts like you are ripping his fingernails off when you try to cut them and if he falls and scrapes his knee you would think he was in need of a knee replacement. If “dramatic” started with an “e” it would have been his middle name (all the men in Lance’s family have “e” middle names). I’m not sure what we did as parents to encourage this behavior, but whatever it is, DON’T DO IT!

Rational conversation is completely pointless when he is like this. I ask him, “How bad does your belly hurt?” and he replies, “I CAN’T SAY HOW BAD IT HURTS. ONLY ME KNOWS BECAUSE IT’S MY BELLY.” Alrighty then! That was helpful. I ask, “Do I need to take you to see a doctor, baby?” and he says, “NO!! I AM NOT GOING TO THE DOCTOR... Will they give me a shot? AHHHHHHHHHH!! I WANT DADDY! PLEASE CALL DADDY!” No problem! Gladly! This screaming went off and on for about an hour. Somewhere around 9:30pm Brayden went to the bathroom, and let’s just say we finally understood why his belly hurt so bad. I knew what was probably coming next... it showed up around 3:00am. Vomit. Then again around 7:00am and this time it was all in the bed. Perfect! Two for Two!

After repeating the clean up scenario from Friday with a few more gags and ill tempered word blurts, I announced that we were out of Ginger Ale and sacrificially volunteered to get dressed and go to the store. I mean somebody has to do the hard stuff right? 

Brayden has had it a bit worse than Asher, but he’s actually handled it like a champ. He hasn’t complained too much about throwing up. He did, however, scream like a banshee when his brother dropped a book on his forehead shortly after this picture was taken...

So that’s my confession. I do not have the “good nurse-mommy gene” and I’m not quite sure how to acquire it. For the record I also lack the “good nurse-wife gene” either, so this nasty little bug better be done with this house. Just Sayin!

Until next time! -K