My friend, Kate, messaged me the other day saying that her annoyance at my lack of posting quickly gave way to gratefulness as she assumed it meant we were all sleeping better. She's right. We are. Sam has gone from waking up every single hour of the night to virtually perfect nights--I think in the past month he's gotten up twice--both times related to ear infections (speaking of which, stay tuned for tubes round two!")
Sam has certainly kept us entertained, however, most of his innocent comment, however, have bordered on obscene making them completely inappropriate for the blogosphere (but it's oh so tempting).
Tonight, however, I am penning a post in the woe-is-me category. Sam has gotten his first bout of stomach flu. I should have seen it coming when he refused his third breakfast (seriously, the kid eats three breakfasts). I really should have seen it coming when he decided to forgo his pumpkin donuts (at the time I just thought, "Sweet! More for me!") By the time I realized what was upon us it was well after I encouraged a colorful meal down his gullet.
Sam sat in the tub while I cleaned up mess #1, laughing as I dry-heaved, "Why are you making those funny noises, Mommy?"
I placed towels on his bedroom floor along with a large Rubbermaid tub. "If you need to throw up," I said, "Try to throw up in the bucket and then come and get me."
Whoops. The correct instructions for a puking 3-year-old are actually, "If you throw up, don't move an inch. Just stay still and call for me." Because after throwing up in his BED Sam came running to get me. He ran in such a way that will require a call to Stanley Steamer tomorrow. "Wow, I've sure had lots of pukes and throw-ups tonight," he said proudly.
I was a bit more explicit in my second round of instructions:
"If you throw up, try to throw up in the bucket and then call for me. I will leave my door open and will come to you as fast as I can."
"Will you run?" Sam asked.
"I will run," I promised.
"Okay. And if I see a fire in my window I will stay in my room and yell, "MOMMY! THERE'S A FIRE IN MY WINDOW!"
"No, actually if you see a fire you should leave your room and come tell me right away."
"Okay," he said--
(WHOOPS--JUST HAD TO TAKE A BLOGGING BREAK TO CLEAN UP PUKE INCIDENT NUMBER THREE. NOW WHERE WAS I...)
"Okay," he said, "I will only get you for uh-mergencies. And I will get you if there is blood on my arm."
"Okay. Good plan," I said, hoping he wouldn't notice that I neglected to kiss him goodnight.
I'm assuming I'm going to get this crude. I haven't had the stomach flu since 7th grade. I'm due. It's inevitable. I'm also assuming that anything I've eaten today I will find repulsive in the future. That's why I allowed myself to eat TWO donuts. Donuts are my weakness. I cannot master the urge for fried dough. I figured this binge was doing myself a favor in the long run. I'm also second guessing my original plan to carve pumpkins tomorrow. I'm not in the mood for pumpkin gut.
Oh yeah, did I mention John was gone this weekend?
There, Kate. Are you happy?