Barfarama

Happy New Year! 2012 has arrived, and so far, save for the year number, things remain generally the same - I guess the world will end LATER in the year; although there WAS some excitement in our little home just a few short hours into the New Year; the kind of excitement that I prefer to not have, but you know, because this blog isn't called "My-not-so-sane-life" for nothing.

After ringing in the New Year, and tucking everything into bed for the remainder of the night, we were up again about an hour later, handling a debilitating headache. We figured a couple of tylenol would make short work of it, so popped a couple of those and quickly settled back into bed. Then a few minutes later, the gags and dry heaves started; then suddenly footsteps thundered down the hallway to the bathroom where prayers were loudly made to the porcelain gods. Now, you're probably sitting there thinking that it serves us right - that drinking too much does that to you; that we should have drank a little more responsibly. BUT . . . it wasn't me; or my other half; or any other adult for that matter; it was Banshee. Now before you all jump the gun here, we don't feed her wobbly pop or goofy juice or allow her to have a 'nightcap' or anything (so she was NOT hungover); she was simply overtired, and because of the lack of sleep over the past few days (trip to the hospital; visiting; New Years Eve, etc), she developed a headache, which in turn caused her to puke.

Puke.

Vomit.

Barf.

Spew.

Throw up.

No matter what you call it, it's still all the same thing; chewed up, regurgitated, smelly chunks of grossness that forcefully comes out of ones stomach in mass quantities. And it's that chewed up, regurgitated, smelly chunks of forceful grossness that I kinda-sorta can't handle. Not. At. All. With kids, it almost ALWAYS involves fruit punch laced hotdogs, KD or pasta. Even if they haven't drank fruit punch or eaten hotdogs, KD or pasta any time recently. It's as if the food they eat miraculously morphs into partially chewed hotdog chunks and whole noodles; almost like that is how kid digestion works (kind of like kid poop - kids can poop corny or nutty poop - even if they haven't eaten corn or nuts at all). I actually happen to find that just a wee bit creepy. I also find it a little undaunting to know that my kids don't eat much (this is a daily battle) - but when they're sick, they can puke bowls and bowls and bowls full of vomit. I mean seriously, where the hell are they storing it? I am certain that my kids can easily puke out their body weight inside of 30 minutes! Puke that SOMEONE needs to clean up.

AND . . . that someone can't be me.

I wasn't kidding when I said that I can't handle it. If someone pukes, I puke right alongside them. I'm not the kind of Mom that can hold my child's head up and rub their backs as they vomit. In fact, I'm usually hauling ass to track down my other half so HE can deal with it. He has an iron gut; me? Well, I definitely don't. Even baby puke makes me gag. I mean come on, what's worse than chunks of sour milk in your hair or on your shirt? Blech. There are times (thankfully far and few between - my kids don't often get tummy bugs) where I have to step up to task and somehow deal with the vomit carnage, but my kids are well-trained and aim first for the toilet, and if they HAVE to use the "puking bowl" (yes, we have a designated bowl; a beautiful, expensive, large stainless steel affair that some moron) my darling other half chose out of my kitchen collection to use just for puke), they often just run it to the bathroom on their own. However, there ARE times where it's all over the kid or the floor or their bed or the couch, and at those times, I have to embrace my courage and go into auto-drive. I pull my shirt up over my mouth and nose (admittedly, sometimes I even tie another shirt around - just for good measure), grab some rags (that are kept JUST for this occassion) and put them ON the piles of puke to 'hide' them. Everything 'touched' by vomit gets quickly put into a garbage bag and shoved out the front door, where eventually my other half will be able to inspect it and decide if it's salvageable (because I draw the line at putting vomit chunks in my washing machine). As for the kid, I get them in the shower and hose them done, praying that the force of the pressure from the shower head is enough to get any hair chunks out. Then I remake the bed covering everything with layers of old towels and rags so that if it happens again, I can quickly whisk it away (or hopefully by that time, my other half will deal with it).

A few years back I had a daycare kid go all poltergeist and vomitted clear across the dining room table, hitting the wall. I froze. It's one thing to have to possibly have to deal with my OWN kids vomit, but it's a whole 'nother story to have to deal with someone else's kids vomit. I tried to reassure him, as I deposited the contents of my own stomach right there on the floor beside me, but instead of staying put, he stood up and darted across my living room to the couch - where he proceeded to puke all over the couch (which was NOT leather), the blankets and a diaper bag that happened to be sitting there. I finally got him up to the bathroom (him leaving little piles of puke along the way), but instead of USING the toilet, he puked on the counter, the floor, against the shower curtain - pretty much everywhere BUT the toilet. At this point, I knew I was in trouble and would NOT be able to deal with this, so, I did what every 'sane' person would do; I called my other half at work and had him come home to deal with the carnage. Yep, for real. And knowing how 'well' I deal with vomit, he came home right away (isn't that awesome of him?).

I don't really understand why I am the way I am with vomit. Even the mere mention of it makes me squeamish. A couple years back I went to an amusement park and went on a ride where at the very end, the man in front of me started gagging, and yep, he puked right there on the right. I didn't see it, but I heard it (that sound of gurgling chunks coming up ones throat is SO distinct) and then I smelled it. When we pulled up to the platform, the workers were all concerned about this guy and instead of opening the ride to let us off, they were talking to him, which is great, I'm glad that they were all sympathetic and worried and totally unconcerned and unaffected about the fact that this grown man was sitting there covered in his own vomit, but what about the rest of us? What about that that DON'T have a strong stomach. I was frantic saying over and over "let me out, let me out . . ." to which one of the workers said "Ma'am, we have a situation here", but I quickly blurted out that if they didn't get me away from that wafting smell that they'd likely have 2 vomit covered cars on that ride. I'm not sure if it was my words, my franticness, the colour of my face, or the fact I was already gagging, but they opened that ride and got me the hell out of there.

I am definitely not proud of the fact that I don't cope well with vomit, but I've also realized that there are many other gross and nasty things I deal with on a daily basis that I *CAN* deal with - like the stuff that I find in Imp's pockets as I do laundry (and believe me, it's GROSS - because he is ALL boy) or the lunch containers from 3 weeks ago, or the dishes and cups that I find tucked away in teens room, or the unidentifiable leftovers that got pushed to the back of the fridge, or the toilets in our house (again - boy related - but the toilets are a whole 'nother topic I could write about), or snot, or dog poop on shoes or even bare feet (even though we don't own a dog), or the contents of the organics bin when someone leaves it open (we have to tie it up to prevent critters and neighbour dogs from getting into it) and it's spread from one end of the yard to the other . . . yep, I'm certain that I have my share of gross.

So . . . thankfully my other half was home on New Years Eve to deal with Banshee's puking (it was just a couple of times - mostly just bringing up the tylenol we'd given her), and she was fine on New Years Day. Oh - and for the record, I probably could have dealt with her tummy trouble the other night, but I didn't want to take away from my other half's responsibilites or anything like that.

I do admit though . . . I worry about the day that our family gets shot down with a tummy bug like rotovirus - where everyone is puking and crapping all at the same time . . . I honestly don't know how we'd deal with that . . . can you picture it? Five people vying for 2 toilets - YIKES!!! That my friends, would be my worst nightmare!! And for the record (AGAIN), I don't cope well with vomitting myself. The fact that my head is stuck in the toilet; the same place that people crap; is enough to make me sick on it's own, let alone the fact that I truly am ill. I fight the urge to puke, so I'm a snivling mess by the time I finally DO 'agree' to let it out, and it's so forceful, I usually end up with welts and bruises on my forehead from banging it on the toilet seat. Then there's the visual component, the smell (oh dear lord, the smell) and the fact that it's stuck in my teeth and sometimes there's the splashback from when it hits the water . . . Yeah, suffice it to say, it's a nasty circular series of events . . . I gag and retch WAY more than I should simply because I'm seeing, smelling and feeling my own puke.

YUM. On that note . . . I'm off to grab something to eat. Have a great day!!