Identify your own child's vomit?
Allow me to offer more detail:
Ajers woke up this a.m. sick, crawled into bed with me, complaining of a headache and stomachache. Now, I know this kid is sick when he says he is because he is usually up and dressed, teeth brushed, and breakfast set out and ready before he even comes in to wake me up in the morning.
Diva and I call him "Dad Junior." Every morning, he comes in to wake me at 7 a.m., then I go crawl into bed with Diva to wake her up, and snooze a bit more. She and I hear Ajers downstairs prepping the waffles, and then we hear him start up the stairs. She and I whisper to one another, "Uh-oh, here comes Dad Junior," and we fly out of bed, pretending to be up and ready.
So, this morning, there was no "Dad Junior" rushing us along, just a sick little guy in bed with me. I told him he didn't have to go to school. He said, "I guess I won't be learning about Medieval Times then if I don't go to school." I said I was sure the teacher would catch him up with what he missed. Then we closed our eyes for a little while, but he got up and ran into the bathroom to puke.
Dangit. I had stuff to do today, since Low Motivation Factor earlier this week had prevented me from doing stuff I needed to get done. And now, I would be caring for a sick child today.
From the bathroom, after he retched a few times, he called for me. Thinking he wanted a cool cloth or something, I got out of bed. He tells me, "You have to go wake up Diva."
Go get 'em, Dad Junior.
The kid is still concerned about his sister even when he's barfing.
Get Diva off to school, and then I grab Ajers a pedialyte popsicle, which he cannot keep down, then later I give him some 7-Up, and a few sips into it, he's back in the bathroom heaving it up. Not much in that tummy, but it's those retched-sounding yaks that you know are killing the tummy muscles.
Later, he's STARVING, dying for food. I tell him he can try some bread and if he keeps it down, he can maybe have something else later. He keeps it down. I give him another piece. Seems like he's doing well.
Good. Because I have to go pick up my brother, the one who got arrested at my other brothers' wedding in July, remember him? Well, he's in town for a visit, and he's coming to my house via train after a conference in Chicago.
So, AJers seems to be doing well, and he's begging for food.
"Hey, how about this?" he asks. It's a can of Chef-Boy-R-Dee Ravioli.
Nuh uh. Nothing red. That stuff is just not fun barfing up, and believe me, I know because I had, not one, but two identical bouts puking Barfaroni when I was in college. Yes, we were poor, yes, we had no sense of what tasted good, but why on earth did I choose to eat Beef... Barfaroni from the can in college? Yuck.
So, I know what that can do to a stomach on its way out.
I give him Cup-O-Noodles chicken soup. He takes his time with it. Says it's the best soup he ever had. Says he's feeling so much better. And, is it time to go pick up Uncle Boomer?
We get into the car. Things seem good. But then he gets a little pale. I open the window. I have a puke bowl in the car; it's been in the car forever because of my puke-boy Tukey. Ajers holds onto it.
We get Uncle Boomer. Then I have to run into the grocery store to pick up a few things. Everyone seems cool. Ajers is psyched Uncle Boomer is here. Ajers is feeling better, I can tell. Uncle Boomer has to pee. Uncle Boomer and Ajers go to the bathroom while I grab some bread, lettuce, and five frozen pizzas because I know Uncle Boomer will want to eat late at night when we come home drunk Friday night (we're taking a cab, so no worries there folks!).
I am shopping, enjoying the muzak. I always love the muzak in the grocery store, yet I'm convinced they choose specific songs to make you long for something you don't have. I've blogged about how I always hear the Ex-Boyfriend songs at the grocery store. Or they'll play Sailing, takes me away to where I ... whatever. That song, and some others, and Journey. They love playing Journey, and then some sad crap. I think they play the sad crap to put you in a sad, crappy mood when you're right next to the chocolate aisle.
It's like they have a behind-the-scenes DJ, and as soon as you turn into the aisle with cakes and cookies, they're like, "Queue the Sad-I-Miss-My-Ex-Boyfriend-Wonder-If-He-Ever-Got-Married-And-Had-Kids music!" the minute you hit that aisle.
I'm serious. There so has to be a job like that!
Anyway, the "Sad-I-Miss-My-Ex-Boyfriend-Wonder-If-He-Ever-Got-Married-And-Had-Kids" music gets cut off and I hear "Clean-up in aisle four!" and it's really weird, because after the fact, I thought to myself, "Oh, how funny. I heard them say there was a clean-up."
I turn the corner, looking for Uncle Boomer and Ajers and I see the yellow hazard Caution Slippery sign. I look down.
It's my son's puke.
Cup-O-Noodle chicken soup puke.
I can clearly identify that whoa, my son puked right here, and I even just heard the Clean-Up announcement, and I didn't even know it was for my.son's.puke.
I was really intrigued by this fact.
Then, I got concerned, and went to the bathroom and knocked on the men's door.
"Uncle Boomer? You guys okay?"
The door opens. Poor Ajers is pretty muched slathered in wet pukey clothes, with drippy spit-up noodles on his jeans.
Uncle Boomer says, "He puked."
I said, "Go to the car, I have to get one more thing."
Uncle Boomer says, "Fuck the food. Let's get this kid home."
Now, let me tell you Uncle Boomer is a father; a father to an eight-month-old. He hasn't exactly been around the block yet. I'm not done shopping. The kid is done puking, but I'm not done shopping. I tell him I will get the groceries and meet them outside.
They scoot out of the store, and I'm left kid-free, a cart-full of stuff I needed, and dang it, I'm not deserting the necessities just because of a little vomit.
Nope. I stroll out of there, side-step the pool of chicken noodle puke and I seriously have to chuckle because I can just picture my brother, walking with AJers and then Ajers booting all over the place, and the funny thing was he barfed right in front of the pharmacy in the grocery store, and there were like seven or eight people waiting for their prescriptions. All of them watching my son puke in the store.
And they all had to think Uncle Boomer was Ajers father. And here I am, guiding my cart around MY SON'S PUKE, laughing to myself, being seriously glad Uncle Boomer took the fall for Ajers!
Does this make me a rotten mom? Cuz maybe I a.m... Hee, hee, hee.