Puke

No, I'm not talking about that disgusting Eminem song where the intro consists solely of the sounds of a person vomiting. Although, that's an awful lot like what my house sounded like on Wednesday...

Wednesday started like any other day. Up in the morning, off to daycare, went to work, and picked Isaac up from daycare. That's where the normalcy ended. I picked Isaac up a little early from daycare so that we could get ready to go to the Wednesday night kid's music class (taught by my old classmate and music therapist, Natasha). I fed him a snack later than usual, because music class is at 5:30, and last week he got hungry half way through the class and threw a fit. He had a banana and a glass of milk. When I took him out of his high chair, he was whining and crying a bit, which is out of the ordinary for him.

I sat down on the floor to play with Isaac. He came over and snuggled with me a little. Then he stood directly in front of me, looked at me funny, and proceeded to projectile vomit all over me. Not just all over me, but all over himself and the floor, too.

As I stood there in shock, contemplating what to do with the handful of puke I had (apparently, when I noticed he was going to throw up, I put my hand under his mouth, thinking I could catch it or something - not sure what was going through my head at that point), he suddenly vomited a second time.

Everything was covered with puke: my shirt, my pants, the floor, Isaac's shirt, Isaac's pants, and even his shoes. So I stripped him down, stripped myself down, and threw our clothes in a pile on the kitchen floor. When I turned around to assess the damage in the living room, I found my wonderfully psychotic dog cleaning it up for me. That's right, Gizmo was eating the piles of banana vomit. I want to gag just thinking about it. So I herded Isaac and Gizmo upstairs, closed the gate behind me so Gizmo couldn't do any more "cleaning" while we were up there, and gave Isaac a bath.

About 15 minutes later, J came home from work. The moment I heard the door open, I yelled down to him, "Get Isaac's bath towel and bring it up here... and pay no attention to the vomit in the living room." J later told me that it was unclear to him at the time exactly who the vomit belonged to - his toddler son, his pregnant (and often nauseous) wife, or his anxiety ridden Terrier.

Isaac vomited a few more times that evening, so we decided not to send him to daycare the next day. It was clear that he had some sort of stomach bug. Oh yeah, and music class obviously was a no-go, too. I had a hard time cleaning the banana acid puke smell out of the carpets, and ended up having to use my parents' carpet cleaner (that we borrowed like, a year ago and haven't returned yet - thanks Mom and Dad) to shampoo the areas where he had thrown up.

Oh, the joys of parenting.

I hope you enjoyed this disgusting post. Sorry for grossing you out. But, come on, the title of the post is Puke. What did you expect?