Winter. Who doesn’t love winter? It’s much better than summer. It has cold weather, gray days, and innumerably more viral illnesses than summer. Why would I want to be outside doing every sort of fun activity with my child when I could be cooped up with them inside resolutely refusing them the right to play with Play-doh? Even though you only left the house once to go to the grocery store, the children have contracted a 72 hour projectile vomit type bug. Now no one can have social interaction with anyone, because I’ll be damned if I get labeled as the mom who was worse than Hitler when I took my feverish child to play group. I view moms who deliberately expose our children to their children’s germs like I view my husband during pregnancy. “You did this to me! You are the reason my every waking moment is a chapter from Dante’s Inferno!” #dark Of course, sometimes our children look perfectly healthy during a play date and then promptly come home, get the glassy eyes of death, and proceed to puke on the cat. Chivalry and Miss Manners would suggest sending a speedy text recommending that your fellow mom bathe her children in Lysol as soon as they get through the door.
Being in the house with vomiting children is either full throttle or mind numbingly boring. Babies, being total time sucks, cannot indicate when they are about to erupt, necessitating constant vigilance. I like to drape a pack and play in towels and christen it the Puke Palace. Just when you’ve watched enough Curious George to go into a PBS coma, you hear that spine tingling gagging noise. Then it’s beast mode. For some reason I can’t explain, my first reaction is to try to catch the vomit with my hands. Sometimes this actually works. Sometimes it just means that I am covered in vomit. I keep a towel nearby, but I REALLY have to fight the instinct to catch it.
I am tired of vomit, cleaning up vomit, watching for signs of vomiting, and towels full of vomit.