My little Mac and baby Boo are sick. Really sick. And it breaks my heart to see them like this.
Last night when Mac was going to bed he said his stomach felt "twisty." And I knew what was in store for me later. He woke me up around 1:00 AM with those 7 words that strike fear in the hearts of moms everywhere: "Mom, I threw up in my bed."
And I know he's sick. And I'm sad for him. And if I could take it from him and go through it myself, I totally would. But for the love of God kid, can't you make it to the toilet? Jeez Louise.
So I stumble out of bed to survey the damage and start stripping his bed. And as I walked down the hall to get him a clean set of sheets, I knew something wasn't right. The smell was too over powering. I walked into Boo's room and was horrified. She too had yacked all over her bed. But was still sleeping in it.
And being the amazing father he is, Ubes started helping me right away. Starting one shower for Mac and another for Boo, helping to calm them both down as they both continued to hurl all over the place. When Junior was little, Ubes and I had a deal. He would always take the puke and I would always take the poop. But last night he forgot that deal and got to be Super Dad rubbing backs and holding heads and saying soothing words of reassurance. While I rinsed out dirty sheets and underwear and started the washing machine and scrubbed walls and mattresses, gagging and dry heaving the whole time.
This mom thing is for the birds. Next time I want to be the dad.
Please note I am writing this post in an exhausted stupor, my own stomach feeling a little twisty, and I in no way meant that I didn't love being a mother or I didn't love my children or I didn't appreciate having such an amazing husband who willingly gets out of bed to help when babies are sick and ralphing. I'm lucky, I know. Don't judge me.