January, You Kinda Sucked.

And you're not even over yet! *knock wood*

First, it was the advent of the puking sickness. I never thought that something so small could vomit so profusely and so often! There was the night that Gabby had a coughing fit, and threw up a little. Forunately, Daddy was right there with his open, cupped hand to catch the mess. As soon as it happened, Gabby looks at it and proclaims, "Whoa!" I bust out laughing, but Bill sits there with this stricken, yet horrified look on his face as he screams for a  towel.

Then, I sneak out one night to deliver some home-cooked deliciousness to my friends with the newborn. You remember her, the one who is not a pre-existing condition? Anyhoo, I decide that I'm out for the evening anyway and go catch Sherlock Holmes (great movie). I get home around 12:30 and I hear, "MOMMY!" as I peek into the bedroom. Gabby comes flying at me, and we go snuggle on the couch since Bill reports that she didn't seem to be feeling well that evening. He comes out to check on us a little while later, and she runs to him... and projectile vomits all over him. Cue the stricken yet horrified look, add a little frantic, and you have a caricature of his face. Gabby starts to wail, so I take her from him and get a layer of shirt off only to have her projectile puke all over me!! Let me tell you: 7-hour old mac and cheese does not smell good. We take turns showering at 1 AM, and try to go to bed, but Gab is really not good tonight. She has, however, by the second (third?) round of vomiting learned to indicate that it's coming by wailing and holding her mouth. Poor punpkin; we've all been there. This happens a few more times that night, but of course Daddy sleeps through a couple of rounds. Bleh. The next day, she's totally fine barring a diminished appetite.

Bill gets sick on Monday (?) night, but at least he makes it to the bathroom to empty his stomach's contents. It's awesome. I provide him with extra blankets, a bucket with some water in it, and a jug of water. 

Tuesday morning rolls around and I'm thinking Bill is okay to be left alone since he attempted to go into work at 4 AM (his normal time) and I harassed him (there may have been some cussing, I won't lie) into keeping his lame ass at home. I take Gabby to daycare. Apparently I've forgotten that Gabby indicates when she's about to blow because I pick her up when she cries and holds her mouth, only to get rained on by regurgitated oatmeal and milk. Since this hasn't been in her stomach too long, it's not as nasty-smelling, but I gag all the same. The more experienced daycare providers managed not to get spattered but gamely help me clean up. Le sigh. We turn around and go home, where I call out sick. On the way back home, I stop off at Burger King for a Bad Breakfast to help me forget my Bad Morning. Order placed, money paid, waiting for food at drive-through and... projectile vomit. You mean to tell me there was MORE fucking oatmeal in there? Ugh. The little stinker seems fine because no sooner than the last chunk is spewed than she starts asking for chicken nuggets -- after all, we are at Burger King.

We make it home, get all of our accumulated spattered clothing off, and Gabby proceeds to run all over the house like she never had an upset stomach.

Think that's all the vomit for one week, eh? Nope.  We go visit Uncle Michael, and to reward her for good behavior, we stop by Wendy's for chicken nuggets. Cue wail, mouth holding. This time, I have a receptacle handy and get 90% of the  apple, french toast, and juice that comes back to visit into the bowl. I bust a hasty U-turn at the drive through and get home. Bill greets us with towels and Clorox wipes; Gabby and I strip down, shower, and take a nap.

By now I'm thinking that me and January are done. We're not friends. January is apparently not done with me, 'cause I pass half of last week waiting for Death to come claim me and release me from the pain of the first (diagnosed) attack of strep throat I've had in five years. At least I got some good drugs out of it.