Puke-tastic
Last year, the day before her birthday, Emmie woke up from her nap covered in puke. That was really awesome. Today, almost exactly a year later, she puked her shit again, this time all over the living room area rug.
If you've never tried to clean a seven-year-old Ikea rug with a Hoover carpet cleaner, well then you've never lived. Not only does my entire house now smell like puke, it smells like wet puke. You're welcome if you just threw up in your mouth.
I was still sleeping, but word on the street from Grandpa was that one minute she was playing nicely and the next, she was yakking all over herself and the rug while Jack stood by yelling, "Emmie is growing up! Emmie is growing up!" Later we corrected him, you know, when we weren't cleaning chunks out of the rug.
My mom woke me up with the news and I came downstairs to find Emmie running around as if nothing ever happened, the rug covered in towels and Jack immersed in a play-by-play of the events of the morning.
Again, Grandpa was a trooper. The man had never changed a diaper until this year, despite having raised two daughters of his own, but this is the second time he has cleaned up after a puking grandchild. The man deserves a medal for this performance, seriously.
Emmie seemed herself most of the day, but we didn't let her eat anything except a few pretzels and a small container of applesauce. She refused to drink any Pedialyte or apple juice and since we wouldn't let her have her beloved milk, she settled begrudgingly for small amounts of water. By dinner time, she had regained her appetite and wolfed down some turkey, a bite of toast, 1.5 cereal bars and two oatmeal raisin cookies.
The most amusing part of the entire day, however, came when she accidentally slammed her fingers in the cabinet door. She was screaming bloody murder and Jack ran up the stairs and yelled in the most excited voice I have ever heard him muster, "Is Emmie throwing up again?!" Apparently, her vomiting made quite the impression on him.
When I asked him before bed tonight what his favorite part of the day was, he didn't even hesitate.
"When Emmie got sick!" he said. Perhaps we won't need to save any money for medical school, seeing as his bedside manner leaves something to be desired.
If you've never tried to clean a seven-year-old Ikea rug with a Hoover carpet cleaner, well then you've never lived. Not only does my entire house now smell like puke, it smells like wet puke. You're welcome if you just threw up in your mouth.
I was still sleeping, but word on the street from Grandpa was that one minute she was playing nicely and the next, she was yakking all over herself and the rug while Jack stood by yelling, "Emmie is growing up! Emmie is growing up!" Later we corrected him, you know, when we weren't cleaning chunks out of the rug.
My mom woke me up with the news and I came downstairs to find Emmie running around as if nothing ever happened, the rug covered in towels and Jack immersed in a play-by-play of the events of the morning.
Again, Grandpa was a trooper. The man had never changed a diaper until this year, despite having raised two daughters of his own, but this is the second time he has cleaned up after a puking grandchild. The man deserves a medal for this performance, seriously.
Emmie seemed herself most of the day, but we didn't let her eat anything except a few pretzels and a small container of applesauce. She refused to drink any Pedialyte or apple juice and since we wouldn't let her have her beloved milk, she settled begrudgingly for small amounts of water. By dinner time, she had regained her appetite and wolfed down some turkey, a bite of toast, 1.5 cereal bars and two oatmeal raisin cookies.
The most amusing part of the entire day, however, came when she accidentally slammed her fingers in the cabinet door. She was screaming bloody murder and Jack ran up the stairs and yelled in the most excited voice I have ever heard him muster, "Is Emmie throwing up again?!" Apparently, her vomiting made quite the impression on him.
When I asked him before bed tonight what his favorite part of the day was, he didn't even hesitate.
"When Emmie got sick!" he said. Perhaps we won't need to save any money for medical school, seeing as his bedside manner leaves something to be desired.
posted by Amy at
9:28 PM
2 Comments:
LOL @ "puked her shit" That's fantastic-- so vivid.
I hate cleaning up puke. Hate it. I'd rather clean up any other kind of output. And it ALWAYS SMELLS LIKE PUKE when you're done cleaning. Baking soda and vinegar usually do the trick, though. But BLECH.
I hope she feels great and that no one else barfs.
I had a childless friend say to me, "I thought you just got over this when you became a parent" as I was gagging over a memory of my son puking.
Ha, I say. Ha!
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