I woke up last week with one nasty stomach bug. When I laid down I was super nauseous, and when I stood up it triggered ... le vomiting. (Putting "le" in front of anything makes it a little more classy, right?) When you have a two year old (very active) little boy, laying down is not much of an option. So, guess what I did for the majority of my day?
That's right, I threw up. A lot.
And if there anything I hate most in life, it's throwing up. It hurts. It's miserable. And I'm not very good at it. (More on that later.)
I tried lying down as much as I could, so let's just say that Levi got a good healthy dose of PBS Sprout that day. Poor baby; it was like hiking Mt. Everest just to make him lunch. (Ah*hmm ... PB&J.) He kept running up to me, getting in my face and saying, "mommy doesn't feel too good."
He was right. Mommy felt like death.
He was such a good boy all day. He quietly watched TV, colored some pictures and played with his toys. I tried napping when he did, but my body hurt so much that I couldn't sleep. That, and my head and the porcelain throne had far too many meetings.
Levi didn't know WHAT to think when I had those meetings. There I was, sprawled out in the middle of the bathroom floor heaving and screaming. Remember how I said I'm not good at throwing up? Well, it's as if I lose all control of my body. Tears come flying out of my eyes at warp speed, sweat oozes out of every pore of my body and I can't help but scream. It's uncontrollable and involuntary. I sound like a cross between a strangled duck and a choking seal. It's horrific.
My knees were so sore from the hard tile, so I grabbed Levi's little step stool. As soon as I sat down and continued heaving, the blasted thing starts playing, "brush your teeth every day to fight off tooth decay" over and over and over again. Levi was keeping me company me on his potty, playing the harmonica and screaming, "MOMMY IS SICK!! MOMMY IS SICK!!". In between each heave, I wiped my mouth and said, "I'm okay, baby. I'm okay," and then it started all over. Levi blew his harmonica with all his might and then started screaming, "I'M BEING QUIET, MOMMY. YOU ARE SICK. I'M BEING QUIET!" I think I might have laughed in the midst of that round of sickness and I prayed that I could just stop throwing up. Between the tooth brush song, Levi's harmonica and yelling, my horrific barf-barking and convulsing, I know I had to be scaring the poor lamb.
By the grace of God, Husby got off an hour early that day and was able to come home and rescue me. Well, more like rescue Levi. I went straight to bed.
I have a friend who once told me many years ago, "moms don't get sick days", and if ever that statement was ringing true in my head, it was that day. The next morning I told Levi how proud I was of him for how he helped Mommy and was such a good boy when I was sick and he said, "thank you - I'm proud of you TOO, mommy." :)
That's a day I won't soon forget. But I really, really hope Levi does.