Barf Comes to the Toddler

On Monday night, my youngest boy projectile vomited all over me at church. I stood, immobile for far too long, contemplating where to even begin to begin. Stomach contents dripped from my jacket, ran down my legs, and were plastered to my shoes. The kid was worse. Two incredible women cleaned the floor while Troy and I worked on getting the kid into a clean outfit. We left as soon as we could.

He threw up in the car.

And then he threw up every ten minutes for a couple hours. Although, thankfully, those sessions were small amounts. Then he stretched it to every 30-40 minutes before finally calling it a night at 1:30 am. We thought his first round of the stomach flu was behind us. Troy stayed home with him yesterday and he seemed fine in the morning. Then he threw up twice and whined and cried and was generally miserable.

This morning, after sleeping for more than 13 hours, he woke up dehydrated and dry diapered. He guzzled Powerade and milk (I know. I know. I shouldn't have given him milk but HE WANTED IT and HE WAS THIRSTY and I felt like ogre telling him he couldn't have it.) and then he chucked it all over me and him making the score Barf: 2, Mom: 0. I spent my day force feeding him small amounts of liquid. He's been the saddest little lamb, alternating between sitting calmly and quietly in my arms and screaming non stop.

This afternoon, he watched ten minutes of a show (maybe a record for him), quietly looked at books, and played with Play-Doh. He was like a regular toddler. Nothing about Will is regular. He's go-go-go 100% of the time. (Also, he's way cuter than regular.) So, while I hope he can finally keep food in his belly soon and while I hope he doesn't become so dehydrated that he needs an IV, it has been nice to see that he can sit still for longer than two seconds. Even if it does take some kind of super flu to make it happen. To clarify, I do not want my child to have the super flu. I want him to be back to his old self as soon as possible. Like, right now.

It's been rough.

And as you all know, I vomit when someone in the the next town over has the barfs. There's little to no chance of me surviving toddler puke all over me, toddler lying on me, toddler stealing my water bottle and drinking from it, toddler trying to shove his cup into my mouth. It's almost inevitable that a few (or thirty) visits to the porcelain puke collector is bound to be a part of my future. True to this prediction, and despite the fact that I've washed my hands 12,000 times since Monday, my stomach started feeling pretty unhappy a couple of hours ago. I'm holding on to a small thread of hope that it's psychological and I can will myself not to get sick.

I'm also wondering if it can possibly make its way through my family before Monday. I'm guessing that's a mathematical impossibility. But we'll see. I really just don't want Santa bringing vomit to anyone for Christmas.