Superdad and Vomit in Paradise

I guess it's inevitable. Now that daughter goes to preschool, it seems that we pick up all kinds of viruses and such that make us all violently ill. Before the past couple of months, throwing up was not a regular part of my existence. Apparently it is now.

Kids throw up easily. They just do it, and they feel better and go back to sleep. They don't fight it. We grown-ups, on the other hand, fight the urge and dread the experience so much that I think we draw out the process even longer. After the last 13 hours, I can definitely say that the thought is much worse than the actual experience. And once you get last night's dinner out of the way, the dry heaves don't even have to make you get out of bed. What's Gladware for after all? We can have a couple of vomit bowls in every room so we don't even have to go looking for a receptacle. ("Use it, reuse it and you can still afford to lose it." If only they knew.)

Superdad helped us all through the whole night. Maybe he was energized by the short but sweet lovemaking we did last night. I like to watch the Amazing Race, and last night was the premiere. It reminds me of many of our "vacations" in various countries. It's fun to see that others devolve into yelling, sobbing and throwing maps at each other when they get frustrated too. Superdad had been more than a little pouty after going all of about one week without sex. Of course that week included my period, a three-night camping trip where sex is pretty much impossible in close quarters, and an overnight visit from his parents where they slept in our playbed. I guess he got so used to the everyday routine that a week just about killed him. Anyway, we made everybody happy with a nice half-hour session and then watched the show.

Shortly after we had gone to sleep, I heard daughter sobbing. I have to admit that I figured it was just a bad dream, and I did not jump up and rush to her side. I waited. The sobbing continued. I called to Jay, but he was out cold. So I got up and found most of the partially digested remnants of last night's dinner in daughter's hair. She was shivering. I started on the clean up. Jay woke up a few minutes later and joined the party, getting daughter into a warm shower to clean up and warm up. We got the linens changed and got daughter back into bed. The heaving sessions continued and Jay stayed with her.

I was feeling a bit weak so I headed back to bed with son. I should have known. A short while later I made a mad dash to the bathroom to expel my own dinner. Half-digested spinach salad is one scary sight. I spent a fun night with son in our bed nursing him and waking up to shove a bowl under his face or my own as we both periodically heaved. We did get some sleep too though.

Superdad didn't sleep much as daughter continued to heave most of the night. To the extent that he slept, he did so on a crib mattress on the floor of daughter's room. A crib mattress does not do much to support 160 pounds of Superdad.

Superdad's flaw is, of course, his propensity to sympathy vomit. He fought it off all night long, but he's still shaking in his supershoes, fearing what might be to come.

But Superdad came through for us all. He stayed home from work to care for the family. He's got the laundry going non-stop. And he's currently amusing daughter with art projects in the kitchen. She could do art projects all day so that's no small feat. I've kept down a Coke for a good hour and son insisted on eating an orange, so we may be seeing the light.

Thank you, Superdad. I knew you would come through for us. Maybe if I can get the smell of vomit off my breath we can take advantage of the afternoon at home later.