Ralph and Chuck: Our Unwanted House Guests

The dreaded rotavirus struck our house again. Just the mere mention of nausea or puking will give me the sweats and send me into a state of panic. I loathe the stomach flu (who doesn't?). Not only do I loathe puking, but I am practically phobic of the act. Some people fear spiders, some fear heights, I fear puking. In college, many friends of mine were puking on a weekly basis from over-consumption of booze. I made sure to always keep myself just shy of that debauchery because I was so terrified of throwing up. Everything about it is misery. Those few hours of feeling "off", and then the slow and steady build-up to ralphing. Ugh. I am a person who has the pain drawn out particularly long (or maybe I am that much of a drama queen to believe that it is drawn out especially long, just for me). I am laying on the bathroom tiles, begging for the contents of my stomach to explode forth, but my stomach just teases me with gags, on agonizing end, until I finally get the pleasure of getting the act over with. Yuck.



My phobia of gastroenteritis never affects my parenting. I am always there to soothe our children when they get a tummy bug, always. But the moment they first puke, I am in a full-blown state of hysteria on the inside. I am a calm, caring mommy on the outside and a total basket case on the inside. I purell and wash my hands like crazy and do everything I can to avoid the dreaded germs, but it's inevitable. There is not much you can do when your kids manage to puke on your body multiple times, each and every time they get sick. And like clockwork, a few days after their first upchuck appearance, mine soon follows. Never my husband, just me.



So, as a preface to this little tale of our fluid-filled house this week, I was a terrible, terrible mother. Just awful! A week and a half ago, Baby Boy celebrated his very first birthday. I stayed up late the night before to make him a yellow cake with chocolate frosting, from scratch (even the delicious frosting). I was excited because the tradition in our house is cake for breakfast on the day of one's birthday. Baby Boy woke up and we slowly got ourselves and Grandpa (who was in town visiting for the week) up to see our little baby dig into his very first cake. Little Man, his older brother, was in a bad mood from the moment he woke up that day. He told me that he didn't feel like celebrating his brother's birthday, at all, and did not want to sing, eat cake nor go to the Children's Museum. I was sure this was just a case of jealousy. Afterall, this was his first time of having to celebrate another kid's birthday in his own house. He told me that he had a stomach ache and I just didn't believe him. Everytime that I cuddled with Baby Boy and wished him a Happy 1st, Little Man would push him aside and try to get onto my lap. I reminded him about sharing attention and days and that one day soon he, too, would get a big birthday. He would mention again his tummy, and I brushed it aside. I am truly wretched (oy my mommy guilt!). Fast forward to all of us dressed and ready to go when Grandpa says "Little Man is not feeling well, maybe we should cancel" to which I replied, "No, it's a birthday jealousy-ache not a tummy ache". Not ten seconds later and Little Man was heard puking on his bed. OH MAN. I felt like the WORST MOTHER IN THE WORLD. I am the queen mum when it comes to comforting my kids in time of illness. I hold them and let them sleep in my arms at night when they have a tummy bug because I know how awful they feel. I go without sleep and comfort to help them and this time I failed. Big time. He had told me all morning about his sick tummy and I ignored him. I really didn't know! Oh gosh, don't judge me too harshly! I made up for it after the fact. I promise that I did. The whole day got changed around and now Baby Boy can hold this over his brother's head for years to come, "You know, I got robbed of my first birthday because of you..."



Grandpa was here and helped a lot. He continued to drink from Little Man's cup and share his food the entire time that Little Man was sick. I thought it was absolute lunacy, but my father-in-law assured me, "Nah, I won't get sick." I practically bathed in bleach and this guy was sharing drinks with my son. Guess who got sick and who didn't? So this week, all the rest of us got sick (except Grandpa) and it sucked. Baby Boy handled his first tummy bug like a champ. Not a minute after puking all over his bed and he was back to giggling and being his cheerful self. This was at 3am, too. We're out of the woods now and I am hoping that ralph and chuck don't show up for, at least, another year. Oh stomach flu karma, be kind to me! Okay that sounded incredibly selfish. Let's try this again, oh stomach flu karma be kind to my family!



And on a side note, if you have littles ones in your house and want a nice bonding moment to share with them, dance to Justin Roberts, "In the Car". It's truly special. Hold them tight, let the world rest and enjoy the time together.