The first incident occurred two weeks ago when I was watching the kids while their mother went to swimming lessons. I fed the baby his dinner, but he still seemed hungry. I searched the cupboard for some Cheerios and poured some on his tray. He scarfed those down and was crying for more food. I gave him a few Cheez-its crackers and they seemed to sate him.
When I took him out of the high chair and attempted to walk to the living room, that’s when it happened. X’s poor belly had reached critical mass and I was the recipient of a Cheerios, Cheez-it, baby food shower.
I had been lucky up until this point. This was the first time that I had been vomited on even though I had three kids. Unfortunately, it would not be my last.
On Friday, I was in McDonald’s with Nee and N to get them a treat after school. At the counter, I turned to ask N if he wanted an ice cream cone or a sundae. He said that he didn’t want anything. He only wanted to go home. I found his response to be odd since he had never refused a McDonald’s treat. Within seconds, I understood the reason for his refusal. Vomit shot from his mouth to my pants. I rushed N to the restroom as he left a trail of vomit through the restaurant. Nee, who has a knack for stating the obvious, was yelling, “Daddy, N’s throwing up! He’s throwing up in McDonald’s!”
There were no paper towels in the restroom so I cleaned him the best I could with toilet paper and scuttled him to the car to get him home. Later I thought about those poor McDonald’s workers who had to clean up the mess we left behind. Sorry guys.
It turned out that N had a stomach virus. I’ll spare you the details of the events that followed later that night because I’m sure your stomach cannot take it.
As N regained his health, we thought that the worse was over. Wrong! The virus wanted to give X a chance to feel miserable.
I noticed that he wasn’t himself as I attempted to box with him. He usually giggles and sticks out his little belly for me to punch it. Today, he sat quietly with a glassy-eyed look.
K told me to leave him alone as she took him to the couch to comfort him. He rested his little head on her bosom as she gently stroked his head. Suddenly, she screamed, “X has the stomach virus!” I ran into the living room to see a gusher of vomit covering K’s shirt, our new leather couch and rug. Earlier, K said, “If he gets it, it won’t be so bad because he spits up on me all the time.” It was much worse than she imagined.
K scurried off with X to clean him up while I was left to deal with the aftermath. I went through a whole roll of paper towels before I could declare the couch vomit-free.
Meanwhile, K was upstairs dealing with round two. I had to find her another shirt to wear as she struggled to clean the baby again.
To make things worse, Nee, is complaining that her stomach hurts. I fear that it’s going to be a long night.