A wRETCHed night

That crying that I was ignoring last night, it was only the prelude to my evening. As I was beginning to clean up the kitchen, which really amounts to various small yet overwhelming tasks (putting away the vegetables I'd hoped to prepare for a future meal, washing the countless pieces and parts of the ten or so different brands of sippy cups that we own, not to mention wiping off the now dried and crusty baby food smear from the dining room table), I heard the piercing cry from the second floor...

After entering my daughter's darkened room, I could see that she was sitting upright in her crib. As I approached, my hand fumbling across her face to feel for her mouth (it's not unusual for her to be crying because she's lost her pacifier), there was no sign of her pacifier, only wet slimy yuck. Then I heard it - retching. And felt it - more wet, slimy yuck. Thankfully, my eyes were only beginning to adjust to the darkness. Soon my husband was in there too and all I could muster was "She's throwing up!"

It was a long night, made longer yet by my incredibly uncomfortable and stiff neck (according to my chiropractor, my neck was doomed given my penchant for stomach sleeping). So anyway, I can't turn my head from side to side, my little gal is puking up chunks of orange I'd so proudly fed her during her nightly viewing of Dora The Explorer, and my son thinks that we're willfully torturing his sister for reasons unknown. Papa was wise enough to attempt to calmly explain why our daughter was screaming like she'd been riding Space Mountain, while I took the sickie face downstairs to cuddle in the recliner and watch cartoons in the dark. Truthfully, I was more scared of my daughter's reaction to her giraffe Sobees disappearing one by one (they were being sent off to the washing machine by her dedicated and sleepless Papa - along with the sheets and growing piles of towels we were using to contain the mess), than I was of my own contamination. Apparently it's not that unusual, but the absence of these prized possessions has often caused near rioting by my daughter. I'd venture to say that her giraffe Sobees are even more desirable than her blankies.

Well I obviously survived the night and subsequent morning, though only because my husband called in sick to work in order to help take care of the patient and her brother, and to try to get some rest (I know that last part sounds silly, but I certainly wasn't going to talk him out of staying home). It's probably best if I end here, so that I can remember to thank him for his help on my way to bed.

Goodnight.