So I don't mind illnesses. Give us all sinus infections, ear aches, fevers, colds, coughs. . . fine. I'll take it, willingly. But I absolutely dread vomiting. I've always had an aversion to it. I cannot even watch someone else do it or even on a movie. At almost any cost I hand this particular dreadful thing off to my sweet husband. It doesn't seem to bother him much.
For example, when I was pregnant with Abbie we had come home from church and I was starving. I reheated some lasagna and proceeded to inhale it. Then just sat for a minute and thought that I wouldn't make it to the bathroom. Suddenly I flew across the room and into the bathroom. I made it to the sink and then to the toilet. My husband came in and held back my hair and then proceeded to rinse out the sink for me while I was still worshiping the throne all the while eating a handful of chips. Now I ask, who does that? I gag at the thought.
Fast forward, Matt is out of town at a conference and of all things Chase starts throwing up one night, okay fine. It isn't too bad, happened twice and that was all. Besides it's still kind of baby puke so I could deal. Then this morning just before the sun decided to shine, Makelle comes out of her room and says that she is sick and her tummy hurts. I assume she is constipated or hungry. Nope. . . she puked in her bed. Swell.
Then I shower her off and get her dressed, put her on a towel in my room tell her not to move and put a movie on while I showered. What did she do? Climbed into my bed and puked on my pillows. . . twice. Fabulous.
After 7 hours of puking every twenty minutes, two bedding sets, several outfits I think she is done with it, or so I hope. The perks of it all. I finally could predict when she was going to throw up so I was ready, garbage, sink, or bucket to catch the foul stuff.
So, the question is, who is next?
