How fun is the stomach flu??? Read on to find out!So the stomach flu sucks. . .
(How's that for an intro?)
Yep. . . the family got pummelled with a nasty little flu bug named Pukeyourbrainsoutosis. To preface. .I'd been told in another blog that it is pretty funny to read about all the bodily emissions that I seem to refer to constantly (and no. . not sex type ones. . kid type ones). This is your introduction to the bodily emissions that sometimes occur in the life of StupidTia. Consider yourself warned.
Friday night starts out quietly enough. Big A (oldest daughter who is almost 5) has a habit of telling us her stomach hurts when she doesnt' want to eat her dinner. So she starts telling us that on Friday night. We pretty much shut her down and tell her she is going to sit at the table until she eats her dinner. So she tries her best to eat, whining all the way. She stalled and negotiated as much as possible, but we were firm. We were good parents. SHE WAS GOING TO EAT HER TACOS!!!
Tacos. . .we made her eat tacos. Remember that as it might be important later on in the story.
So at around 8:00, she's laying on the couch watching a movie. She once again mentions her tummy hurts and that she feels kind of "pukey." Hmmm . . .she's still talking about this. Could she be. . . SERIOUS???? I tell her I'll bring her a bowl and that if she needs to throw up, throw up in the bowl if I'm not with her, not really thinking she was going to throw up. I go downstairs to add songs to my iPod.
About the time I finished adding some Duran Duran to my iPod, I hear a plaintive cry of "MOM!" I run upstairs to see that my darling baby (notice how they become darling when they're a little pathetic and weak??) did indeed throw up. And she sort of made it in the bowl, but did miss a little too. But I commend her for trying and make my way to the kitchen to get clean-up apparatus. As I start my walk to the kitchen, I pretty much stumple across a trail of puke going in the same direction. Now this is where it gets REALLY pathetic and I start to feel like a terrible parent.
She knew she had missed the bowl a little and was concerned that Mr StupidTia and I were going to be mad, so she was going to the kitchen to get a towel to clean it up and happened to not be done throwing up. She was SO concerned we were going to be mad at her. I just hugged her and told her of course we weren't mad at her. It was an accident and she tried.
. . but I made her eat tacos. I suck.
So long story short. . .I spend the night taking care of her. She threw up until there was nothing left and then had the dry heaves. Poor baby. I tell Mr StupidTia that I'm going to sleep with her to make her feel better, so I set us up in the guest room downstairs. She's exhausted, as am I, but I'm in Concerned Mother mode, so I'm having a hard time falling asleep.
About 1:30 am, as I'm just in the halfway point that is so delicious between asleep and awake, I hear my name being said. I look up and Mr. StupidTia is in the doorway with a grim expression on his face.
"Littla A just puked all over her crib." (our 19 month old daughter)
Oh good god. . so now we have BOTH of them hurling. Big A, by this time, bless her heart, appears to be done and SOUND asleep. So I go get Little A and proceed to get puked on about four more times in the next three hours. I think we used every towel in our house. . laying them under them when they slept so they wouldnt' get their sheets dirty, as a catch-all for drool and such, etc .etc. And Little A is just so little and really has never thrown up before (other than spit-up as a baby) that she just looked at my like, "What the hell was THAT?"
So I got to bed about 4AM. We woke up about 8:15 . . which is actually. . .WAY sleeping in in my house. Luckily enough, no more barfing. Little A was raring to go. . completely better. . .ready to eat and run and scream. You wouldnt' have known anything was wrong with her. Mr StupidTia is extremely paranoid of the fact that HE might get sick. (he's like that. . .freaks out about that). I, on the other hand, was cocky and glass-half-full-y and said that, "Nope. . I'm not getting it. It's all in your attitude. It takes a lot to knock me down. I'm a mom. I deal with it. You have to be tough and if you're outlook is positive, you won't get it. I'M NOT GETTING IT."
Well. . . guess who got it.
That's right. . the cocky girl who didn't find any wood to knock on when she made her grand statement the day before. Yep. . Sunday was D-Day for me. Started feeling weird about 11:00 . . not nauseous. . just weird. About 4:00, I threw up once and by 7:00, was puking my brains out. Ugh! I HATE puking and I'm really bad at it. I know that's a weird statement but let's put it this way. . I could never be bulimic. I am just not a natural puker. (was that un-PC? I didn't mean it to be. Just trying to paint a picture) It's loud and it hurts (my back is killing me today, I think from the contortions it took when I was hurling) and my eyes water and I gag 100 times before I can actually get anything out. Sound sexy??? You bet it was. I was in bed by 8:15 that night. . which I can honestly tell you I don't think has happened since I was about 10. I was TOAST!!! I couldn't even move. I was utterly incapable of raising my head to drink water. Do you want to know what it took to get up from the couch and drag myself to bed? It took every last will I had in my body . It was awful and I will never, EVER be cocky about sickness again.
Ironically, I woke up at 11:00 when Mr. StupidTia came to bed and then I got up with Little A at 11:30 when she decided it was time to party, and where usually I would be really irritated with her, I didn't really mind. I was awake . . cuz I went to bed so damn early, and I was feeling better (rather than the 24 hour flu, I had the 6 hour flu). So we hung out downstairs until 1:00 am and watched "Meet the Barkers" and ALMOST got sucked into "Room Raiders." It was at that point I made us go upstairs and go to bed before I turned into a zombie. And Little A disagreed with me still so proceeded to fidget and cry until 2:30. . .and by that time, I was not happy with her. The little pill. . .
So that was my weekend. And how was yours???
And speaking of little pills, I called Little A a pill yesterday morning. Big A asked me what that meant and I say that it means she's being naughty. Shortly thereafter, when I'm drying my hair in the bathroom, Big A comes in and picks up my little yellow pack of birth control pills. "What are these, Mommy?" "Those are my pills, honey." After a brief contemplative look on her almost 5-year old face, she innocently says, "For when you're naughty?"