First and foremost, I'd like for all to know that yes, I have in fact learned my lesson. That said, I NOW realize that milk and all dairy is bad for sick kids. But if you don't know your child is sick, does that still quantify you as an imbecile?
It all began only a few short hours ago. We all woke up, had our breakfast and prepared for our day. Chloe missed her bath last night, so I was giving her one this morning as I was simultaneously doing math with the boys. I do enjoy a good multi-tasking challenge - but this one was going to turn into more than even I could manage.
Chloe was already showing signs of being overtired and I had already warned her after only an hour of being awake that she would indeed be taking a nap today. I had zero clue that this behavior was related to her feeling sick.
So...there she is in the bath, I'd already washed her hair and was giving her some play time. Before I knew it, she was out and had dried herself off and gone to pick out some clothes. THANK GOD she decided to come back into the bathroom (which I can see into from where I was sitting helping the boys) to put her clothes on. She was sitting on the floor. When I looked at her, she didn't look quite right, so I asked her, "Honey, are you going to throw up?" She vehemently shook her head 'no'. How was I to know that she was aggressively trying to swallow the puke rising up in throat at that very moment. She is so stubborn, she even refuses to believe she is sick. She will not acquiesce until it all comes forcibly out of her mouth, projectile style.
I was oh so close, I could have just picked her up and carried her to the potty two steps away 'just in case' I thought she might throw up. Why didn't I?! That question will be plaguing me the rest of the day. So, there is my sweet, (evidently) sick, puke laded girl who was clean less than 3 seconds ago.
Puke does strange things to my mind (and my stomach). Plain and simple - I just can't handle it. Now on autopilot (I love how adrenaline takes over because if I had a choice I would never choose to enter the puke zone), I run into the bathroom, pick Chloe up - being careful to hold her out at arms distance and plop her into the tub of water that was still sitting there. I instruct her to clean the puke off herself as I am bent precariously over the toilet gagging with dry heaves.
Remember...she had milk products for breakfast. When they come back up - they wreak!!! The tiny bathroom as well as my tiny child was covered in curdled, sour milk. And I, as her sole caretaker (since Chuck is conveniently out of town) am dangerously close to throwing up on my own daughter because of the foul smell. What a predicament we are in.
Never fear - superheroes live here! Here come my boys to the rescue (anything to stop doing math!). They peak their heads into the bathroom and are greeted with Chloe, still ladened in puke, standing in the tub trying to clean herself off and me, still grabbing the edge of the toilet bowl, straddling the line of puke from one end of the bathroom to the other, trying desperately not add to the mess while alternately convulsing and gagging. I knew I had to pull it together - if only I could get a breath of fresh air.
It only took one, small moment of clarity for my brain to begin functioning like a mother's should again and I inhaled a deep breath through my mouth and asked the boys if they could bring up some paper towels as I got Chloe out of the tub and gathered all chemically hazardous waste materials in our bathroom into a huge massive pile and ran downstairs to dump them in the washing machine. That was all it took. Getting out of the stale, pungent air of the bathroom, revitalized my brain cells and I was once again able to multi-task. I assessed the situation and came up with a plan of action.
After getting Chloe out of the tub and drying her off, I precariously bring her to her room, still afraid that random puking might commence at any moment. She picks out some clothes and I head back to the danger zone. Gavin has 2 paper towels in hand and is (in vain) trying to clean up the puddle of curdled mass strewn through-out the bathroom. I asked Bennett to please get a solvent. Why am I using such high-end vocabulary like 'solvent' on my 7 seven year old? He's yelling up from downstairs "you want the salt mom?" NO....THE SOLVENT!!! YOU KNOW...WINDEX!! I think he understood that. He runs back up stairs with his new vocabulary word at the same time Gavin is running downstairs to get one more paper towel. Meanwhile, I'm wishing for a gas mask and wondering why we don't keep one stashed in the bathroom for emergencies such as this. I'm on the floor (doing what my husband always does), wiping up the mess. This is new territory for me. I am typically able to escape and evade missions such as these. My typical role is to care for the young one in my charge and nurture them back to health in the safety of my arms while cuddling and singing to them. NEVER am I forced to deal with such harsh conditions as these.
I send Gavin back down the stairs for the entire roll of paper towels and Bennett for a Target bag so we have somewhere to dispense of the entire mess. Gavin is my hero. He ends up down on hands and knees windexing everything in sight in the bathroom. Bennett runs the plastic bag out back to the dumpster. But he runs into a slight problem. The dumpster lid is apparently iced shut. He happens to be in the kitchen the same time as me and is opening the utensil drawer into order to retrieve a knife so he can open my DUMPSTER. Ever glad of being in the right place at the right time - I hand him a screw driver and run back upstairs to attend to Chloe. Gavin has the bathroom under control. I have Chloe all comfy in her bed, surrounded by towels and a massive bowl for puke in case the urge arises and she can't swallow it in time.
Ahhh....now back to math. Any questions anyone?
