the importance of a bowl

We had a visitor a couple of weeks ago. It was not a welcomed or appreciated visitor. We did not enjoy its stay in our household, and we ushered it out as quickly as possible. The stomach bug swept through the family- visiting me, then Bug, then Bear, the me again. It decided to skip over Shawn, I suppose satisfied that it took me down twice. 

Bug’s sickness was actually relatively easy. When he’s sick he stops being a tornado and is content to lay on the couch with a blanket and some Team Umizoomi. He’s able to articulate what hurts, understand that medicine and rest help, and most importantly – knows how to vomit in a bowl.

You don’t realize how crucial that skill is until your child without said skill gets sick. 

And they feel nauseous, but can’t put words to that feeling. So they whine and ask you to hold them to make it better. And then they throw up. And you don’t want it all over the floor, so you catch it in your hands. And then they throw up again. Except this time your hands are full of vomit, so it lands on your shoulder. Some of it even drips down your bra and gets stuck in your hair.

And your little sickie is too whiny to be out of your sight/arms for more than three minutes, so you quickly change clothes and use a wet wipe. And you plan on showering off the vomit when your husband gets home, but by then you’re so used to smelling sick that you forget you didn’t shower earlier. So you don’t get a chance to shower until the next morning, when the smell of vomit is good and absorbed into that skin of yours.

Not that this happened to me or anything. And if it did happen to me, I would doubtlessly have the wherewithall to not share the fact that I walked around for 24 hours with vomit on me with the interweb. I’m just sayin’, it could’ve happened. Hypothetically. And it would’ve been gross.

Very, very gross.


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