I started feeling sick in the evening. Tom was all, "Just puke. You'll feel better."
I don't deal well with puke. I cry when I do it. I gag when my children do it. If I can avoid puke, I will.
"I'll take medicine," I said, reaching for the Motrin bottle.
I was out of it for the rest of the evening. I went right to sleep when I got into bed. I was up multiple times in the night with an aching stomach. I knew Tom would say, "Just puke. You'll feel better." But I couldn't!
And then at 4 AM, I heard puking sounds coming from the hall.
At this point my stomach was feeling a little better--you see Tom, I didn't have to puke!--so I went out to see who was getting sick. I crossed my fingers. Please let vomit not be all over the hallway, please let vomit not be all over the hallway...
I found Natalie in front of the toilet.
"Mommy," she croaked. "I'm..." But she didn't finish, because she barfed into the toilet.
My eyes scanned the hallway. No puke!
"Did you...get sick anywhere else?" I asked. And then I felt horrible, because my kid was obviously sick, and I'm more concerned about having to clean up.
"No," Natalie answered when she was finished upchucking. She had a dribble of vomit on her lower lip and to my horror, she started to walk towards me.
"Vomit!" I screeched. "Vomit!" I pointed dramatically to the spot. I reached for a wash cloth and wiped Natalie's mouth.
Some mothers are all, "When you have kids, you deal with their blood, snot, and vomit like it's nothing."
I'm here to say this is a lie. I feel weak when I see their blood. I back away when I see their snot. And I go into a panic when I see vomit.
I tucked Natalie back into her bed.
"Mommy," she croaked. "Please move my stuffed animals away from me. They'll be offended if I puke on them."
I obeyed her request and moved her friends to the end of her bed.
I set the barf bucket beside her.
"Please," I pleaded. "If you feel sick, do it in here."
She did get sick a few more times. But I'm happy to say she did it in the bucket.
Obviously she did not go to school. She lounged on the couch and I introduced her to some of the shows I watch. Like The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
"That's Yolanda," I said, pointing. "The rest of the ladies are wondering if she's really sick."
Natalie's eyes went wide. "She's lying about being sick?"
I shrugged. "Nobody knows. But," I said in a scandalous tone, "her husband DID just leave her."
"Wow," Natalie breathed.
I gestured to the screen. "That's Lisa Vanderpump. She's massively rich."
"Vanderpump is a funny last name," Natalie informed me.
After that show, I put on Teen Mom.
"Don't ever act like Farrah," I said.
"She's not very nice," Natalie answered, scowling at the screen. "Why does her face look like that? Why is she yelling all the time?"
"She lives in Texas. Do you want to go save Sophia with me?"
Natalie nodded but then went, "You watch some strange things."
The good news is she started to feel better:
She was back to dancing around and SPEAKING LIKE THIS when I was trying to watch my show.
So she went to school the next day:
And now I have to hope that I won't have to deal with puke again for a very long time.