Well, it took nearly four years, but we have finally broached the parenting frontier known as The Middle of the Night Honkfest.
As I have mentioned before but am too lazy to link to, I am borderline phobic when it comes to barfing. I don’t really like to go into too much detail about it because 1) gross, who wants to hear it, and 2) I don’t like talking about it because it makes me feel completely weak and lame. I have gotten much better than I used to be (I can handle talking about it, cleaning it up — pretty much anything but seeing/hearing it in progress), but it’s still An Issue. Anyhow, with the exception of her isolated car barf at age 18 months and a few cough-til-you-barf! extravaganzas, Sadie has never had an honest-to-goodness barfing situation/stomach bug. Until last night. Yeesh.
Weird thing about last night was that I was restless, which is entirely unusual for me. Brad had some friends over and they were downstairs playing a game, meaning that I was free to watch crap movies on TV and pass out on the couch whenever I damn well pleased. Thing was, I didn’t feel remotely sleepy (NOT THE NORM), and after surfing channels for two hours, I decided to try to get ready for bed at around 11:30.
Somewhere along the way I got into a shit mood because I started beating myself up for laying around all night when I felt somewhat energetic. My brain likes to do this thing where it tells me that I’m lazy if I don’t spent every last iota of energy I have doing something productive, see, so when I CHOOSE to do nothing and I’m not fall-down-dead exhausted? I feel guilty. This is dumb, I KNOW it’s dumb, and the fact that I know it’s dumb but I FEEL IT ANYWAY pisses me off, so I did something shitty: I picked a fight with Brad. Go team.
We had nearly reached the Look, I’m A Jerk, I Picked A Fight And I’m Sorry portion of our evening when we noticed the wind outside was going CRAYZAY. We stopped to watch the giant trees on our back hill swaying violently in the wind when–straight out of a movie–the eerie darkness was pierced with the telltale cry of “MAMA!”
You know shit ain’t right when you hear that at 12:37 in the AM.
On account of my being a barf-phobe, Brad is always the first responder in these situations, with me as clean-up. Internet, he handles stuff like this in a way I never could: totally calm, totally comforting, keeping everything cool and collected while our hallway floor suffers a loss of dignity, etc. Basically, if you have to barf in the middle of the night, Brad’s your guy. If you need a bathroom disinfected and laundry done in the middle of the night, that’s when I’m your huckleberry.
Long story short: a few barfs and three hours of sleep later, everything seems much better. Sadie spiked a fever by late morning and is awfully tired, but she’s keeping water and crackers down and wants to play and joke around again. And here is where I will once again showcase my enormous pride in this kid by telling you that–despite not remembering what it was like to throw up–she didn’t cry or get upset once. And after the first episode, when Brad told her to let him know whenever she felt as though she was primed to re-boot, she TOTALLY LET HIM KNOW. Like, with enough warning that he was able to take her to the bathroom and hold her hair back and all that shit. My friends, I still can’t always manage to master that process. Bottom line: my kid wins at throwing up and I lose at bragging about relevant things.
Up next at JT headquarters: hoping against hope that Brad and I have dodged this viral bullet.
Bleach don’t fail me now, bleach don’t fail me now.