Last Tuesday I picked Gianna up from school at noon due to a stomach ailment...apparently she puked all over the audiology booth when they were re-MAPing her.
She puked once more at home and then took a giant nap. Upon arising, she begged to infect all her friends at her weekly Atrium class at the Catholic Montessori School. I said, "No, ye shall rest and recover and not pass this scourge to anyone else." Then Brad took her out for ice cream. I am a prophet reviled in my own time.
Fast-forward to Thursday night, whereupon I was struck with the stomach plague. By Friday morning I couldn't make it across the room without feeling like I was going to pass out. I had to call in reinforcements--Maureen to take the G to school and my mother, up from the Lex, to handle the Doms--while I languished in bed.
It was rough. The stomach cramps...they were bad. Very bad. Plus puking, etc. The next morning (Saturday for those playing along at home) Brad awoke to sure signs that he, too, had succumbed. By Sunday night it seemed all was well. There had been recuperation and a lot a lot of Cat in the Hat Knows A Lot About That (thanks Netflix.) I was certain that we were in the clear, and that Dominic had emerged unscathed.
Not so. He began to vomit at approximately 8:38 pm and continued heartily until about 3 am. The child is clearly a genius; he quickly learned to say "need bowl" before puking and thus saved me a lot of laundry.
I just re-read that last sentence. We mothers are an odd species, to be so bizarrely proud of the inner workings of our offspring. You must understand, though, the import of laundry reduction. One of the most unfortunate parts of a stomach virus in small children is the amount of laundry that gets generated. Kids will puke anywhere. They don't try to make it to a sink or a toilet. They puke on their un-washable pillows and their duvet covers and dry-clean only king-sized comforters.
My weekend of rest was effectively undone by this situation, and as I held the black plastic bowl for my poor son, I cursed all the monies I have spent on Trader Joe's Organic Whole Milk French Vanilla Yogurt. What good is allowing Dominic to single-handedly consume $2.99 of pro-biotics every.day if he's just going to puke like the rest of us? They ought to give me my money back. I realize now I was a bit over-wrought.
Despite the battle of the night, my little warrior arose at his normal 6 am hour demanding the potty and "read a book now Mama." I thought he was kidding. But no, all semblance of his illness was gone. What had taken Brad and I days to overcome was already a distant memory to Dominic. No trace of illness remained. It was a Lenten Miracle. And that is the end of my story.