It's no secret that we barf in this house. A lot. Seriously. I have always been extremely susceptible to the stomach flu. When I was a little kid I got it at least twice a year. Most years it was probably more like a seasonal thing...meaning I got it once in each of the four seasons. I went through a stint in high school and college where I really thought the tides were turning and I was going to be through with my constant gastrointestinal nonsense. I threw up the summer after my freshman year--violently--at the river, in a hotel room, with my aunt and uncle. On that particular occasion I puked 21 times in four hours which is just ridiculous. But then a miracle happened and I didn't throw up again until the summer after my senior year. Then I didn't vomit again until my senior year in college. Going four years without upchucking was thrilling. Truly. Unless you're a barfer you have no idea how wonderful it is to experience an almost four year hiatus from violent heaving. After that I got married and I've averaged a stomach flu every six months or so since. Interestingly, I didn't throw up a single time while I was pregnant with The Rock Star.
Speaking of The Rock Star, I feel so sorry for the little guy. Apparently he got his mama's genes when it comes to catching tummy bugs. He's thrown up quite a few times in his short 34.5 months. The exceptionally special part is that he tends to give it to me. Of course.
Troy, on the other hand, rarely throws up. It's not fair. Except he catches a cold if someone in Georgia blows his nose. I don't know if I'd rather have a cold for a week or the flu for 24 hours. At least with the flu I lose a few pounds. All that a cold gets me is 17 empty boxes of Kleenex and a bright red nose.
The real reason I'm blogging is because The Spud (we're trying it out), my three month old son, seems to have gotten my barf genes as well. This is particularly noteworthy since he looks nothing like me and, in fact, did not emerge from my own body. Matthew has the stomach flu. This afternoon he started projectile vomiting. When I say projectile I don't think you can possibly comprehend the severity of the situation. There were spew remnants nearly four feet away from where he was laying. Garrett, who was standing just out of the line of fire, screamed, "My floor! Top doing dat on my floor!" Then he ran and got the Windex and a dish cloth. Windex? On carpet? Have I taught him nothing in his almost three years of life? Anyway, after talking to a nurse at the doctor's office, we decided we needed to take him in because he's so little and could dehydrate so quickly. When we got there the doctor asked me if anyone else had been sick with stomach problems lately.
Me: No. And he and I get the stomach flu if someone within a ten mile radius of us so much as considers getting it.
Doctor: Well, that's what he's got (pointing at Matthew) and since he lives with you, you can probably look forward to catching it.
As if we didn't already have it four and a half weeks ago.
The doctor did a thorough examination and declared that it was, in fact, the stomach flu. He's on a no formula diet. This means we are giving him small amounts of Pedialyte and he is screaming because he wants more. Because, you know, his stomach is empty. Poor baby. Currently he's asleep. We'll see how long that lasts. If he holds everything down tonight, he can have formula and Pedialyte mixed (ew!) and then we can slowly work him back onto straight formula.
We feel so sorry for him. It is super sad.
And I've vowed to eat only bland things because, clearly, I'm going to be throwing it all up in a matter of hours.