Getting Back Up

Those squimish or faint of heart should not read this post.

I already posted about Andy throwing up Thursday night, all over my sweater. That, I think, is how it started. I thought it was a fluke, because there is this time-lapse thing involved between catching this bug and symptoms actually appearing.

Nick climbed into bed with up early Saturday morning, and at around 5am he climbed out of the bed and threw up. I had to write about it because it was a little bit funny. Not the actual getting sick part. That part is horrible and terrible, and I had a lot of empathy for Nick, and later I knew exactly EXACTLY how horrible and terrible and tortured he felt. Each time he was sick Nick would ask "Why? Why is this happening? I hate this." But with little kids it's worse, because they don't know themselves well enough to figure out just how close to throwing up they are, and they don't know exactly what to do when it starts to happen.

So Nick gets out of the bed on Steve's side, which is the side farthest from the bathroom. And then he starts throwing up. Nick is inclined to just stand there are throw up, not worrying about clean-up at all. But Steve immediately started telling him to get to the bathroom. "Bathroom! Bathroom!" he's saying from the bed. But Nick can't take more than a step without more puke hitting the rug in previously un-puked-on places. So, from my side of the bed, I start saying "Just stay there! Don't move! Just stay there!" While I slowly drag my mind through items I can use to catch / mop up the mess. But Steve is seemingly oblivious to what I'm saying, and can only see one objective - the bathroom. So he's still yelling "Bathroom! Get to the toilet! The Bathroom!" And poor Nick is just at his wit's end.

So it was a long morning. For me, it all came to a head a few hours later. We were all still in our PJ's except Nathan, who was oddly motivated to get dressed. I wasn't sick yet, but I could feel it coming on, and I was tired from being up early with Nick and miserable from cleaning up puke - because let's face it, no one in the world would do that.

Anyway, I rounded the corner to make my way up the stairs and get out of my bathrobe, and I heard Nathan make an odd sound as he started coming down. His eyes were teary. "Are you going to throw up?" I asked. He nodded. I waved my arms to the bathroom, which is ten steps from the top of the stairs. "Bathroom!" I shouted. Nate nodded, but took three steps down before opening his mouth and puking.

I felt like a figure in a Greek Tragedy. I was standing near the bottom of the staircase, waving my arms, holding out my hands, yelling. "NO! NO! Bathroom! Go Back! For the love of Christ! Bathroom!" Because.. have you ever seen what a slinky does going down steps? Well, vomit pretty much does the same thing, only more splattery-like.

But poor Nathan only had one objective - to get to me. Because I am the one who makes it all better. Never mind that an hour later I practically pushed him out of the way of that very same toilet I had been waving him to.

Anyway, we're all getting better, slowly but surely. Steve didn't get sick until 36 hours after Nick did, which just seemed to drag things out. And the boys are still really tired. But tonight they started to play again, which is something they hadn't done in days.