When Henry gets sick, it is a major ordeal. If he gets the slightest bit of snot, saliva,
vomit, urine, or blood on him, we must IMMIEDIATELY change ALL clothes and bed
linens. No matter that his underwear,
socks, and pants are fine. Never mind
that the offending bodily fluid only got on a tiny corner of one
pillowcase. If these items are not changed,
there is much weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Then there is also the kerfuffle caused by simply being
upset that he is sick. Not only does he
get sick, he then cries about it. And
then he whines about how the crying from the feeling bad makes his head
hurt. And more often than not, these
bouts of lunacy and laundry are experienced between the hours of 2 and 5
am.
So imagine my shock when at 8 am, having not heard a peep
from Gracie’s bedroom all night, I was met with the overwhelming stench of
vomit. Her queen sized bed was littered
with the stuff. (Here is where I will
not mention that last night we had Jambalaya for dinner. Nor will I mention the utter stupidity that
was getting a pure white bedspread for a toddler.)
Ahem.
Did she call for us?
No.
At my feet, in a little brown ball, hair plastered to her
head in a sweaty mass, was a naked but for her diaper Gracie. She’d removed her vomit covered nightgown and
tossed it in the dirty clothes. She
snagged her giant doggie pinkie and her blankie, and set up shop on the clean
floor of her bedroom. No need to get
Mommy to change her sheets. She was fine
on her own. She sat up and said, “I
sick, Mommy, so I sleep on floor. I all
better now.”
And the trophy for best sickie goes to Gracie Phillips.
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