Kids make the best vomit tsunamis - St. Louis Post-Dispatch |
| Kids make the best vomit tsunamis - St. Louis Post-Dispatch Posted: 01 Dec 2010 08:15 AM PST We've been through things like this before with our older boys, but it had not happened in so long we ignored the telltale signs, the little tremors that foretold the coming disaster. Tiny Bits, our 13-month-old, had been eating like mad all day: Thanksgiving day leftovers, more yogurt than his little stomach should be able to hold,, cup after cup of milk. He appeared to be the only one of the family not feeling under the weather. Then, early in the afternoon, came the first warning sign. "Oh, the baby spit up!" my wife hollered. I came running; paper towels, baby wipes and a new set of clothes at the ready. It wasn't much of a mess, but we cleaned him up and he ran off to play, seemingly none the worse for wear. "Do you think he's getting sick?" my wife asked. "No, I'm sure it's just spit up," I responded. We both made "his stomach is a bottomless pit" jokes and went back to lying around on a lazy Sunday and shoving food into the always-hungry eating machine that had replaced our youngest son. Several hours later we were cleaning up puke again, this time shrugging off the event as the result of him sticking toys down his throat, his new favorite hobby. And once again we saw him run off in a new change of clothes, happy as a lark, no fever, no outward signs of distress and no worries from Mom and Dad. We were such fools. Just after 7 p.m. I had taken our two older boys upstairs to get ready for bed when the distress call came. "Honey, you'd better get down here!" The tone of my wife's voice was unmistakable: something BIG was happening. I bounded down the steps and followed her voice to the bathroom where I was witness to a vomit tsunami, a disaster of epic proportions. My wife had been brushing her teeth when the baby walked up, tugged on her pants and let go with everything he had eaten all day. Down her leg and the front of his clothes was a waterfall of barf, and it quickly created what I like to call "Tiny Bits Lake" in our bathroom. I stood there, wide-eyed, too in shock to speak as Tiny Bits looked and smiled, again seeming to have felt nothing amiss even after exploding forth with pukey goodness. The clean up after the big event took a bit more time than the tremors, but once everyone was out of the shower, into new clothes and hanging out on the couch under a warm blanket (the people and the bathroom tile sparkling again), we had to count ourselves lucky. In my experience, most puking takes place around 2 to 3 a.m. and in bed, although one lucky time we got hit after the child had snuggled into bed with us. Nothing wakes you up quite as fast as someone vomiting right next to you in bed; a double shot of espresso has nothing on that kind of adrenaline. And I had to marvel at our little guy's powers of recovery. I wouldn't be crawling all over the couch or running around the house like a crazy person if I had just brought up half a turkey, five pounds of mash potatoes and more stuffing then you can shake a stick at. And I definitely wouldn't be crying for more food five minutes later. Kids: They take a lickin' yet keep on tickin'. Or, more to the point: They take a pukin' but keep on eatin'. This entry passed through the Full-Text RSS service — if this is your content and you're reading it on someone else's site, please read our FAQ page at fivefilters.org/content-only/faq.php |
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