I’m a puke panicker. I FREAK out during puke events. It’s like my kryptonite. My oldest son doesn’t do puke receptacles–you know like buckets and toilets. He prefers to shock his mother. There was the time he had the norovirus (while my husband was deployed) and he threw up while walking up the stairs. The carpeted stairs. Like, he nailed every single stair. It’s important to note that there was a bathroom at the bottom of the stairs and a bathroom at the top of the stairs, the-stairs-that-were-carpeted. Then there was the time he threw up in his sleep–on an angle with projection. Or the time he threw up on our friends, or another time on our friend’s mother. Oh, then there was Syracuse. He puked the whole way–car seat, no bucket, no paper towels, 10 hours in snow storm, pregnant and morning sick. I had to use the clothes out of our luggage to absorb it out of survival. Fond memories of standing in McDonald’s parking lot off I-81 with coffee stirrers and napkins trying to clean car seat–because after hours of vomit that will take care of it.
My husband and I are ying and yang on this. He quietly soothes puking child. When child was baby he would pick up spewing babe with zero concern for himself or surrounding upholstery. I am the opposite. I do things like yell in slow motion baritone “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” and then alternate with trancelike horrified staring. I intermittently scream things like “where are the Clorox wipes, why are you doing this to me, and for the love of God man go to the toilet”. I pace outside the bathroom and cry (because I do feel bad for my baby) pour bleach on everyone as they pass by me and mentally count laundry loads.
Currently we are in “Hell 2014-2015” as my husband coined it at 5 am. Above mentioned child has had stomach flu of various degrees THREE times starting on Thanksgiving Day, reoccurring at 12:04 am Christmas Day (I am still apologizing to the rug), and now again, as I type this. The rest of the family have had it at least once (I managed twice) since November. Both children are currently on plastic covered couches with buckets while my husband and I mill around like a scene in Outbreak.
I am possibly delirious.