Yesterday started off with a conversation with Courtney, our sitter that went something like this:
"Max slept 12 hours and doesn't seem like anything is wrong or hurting but something is off. He won't eat breakfast, he didn't eat dinner last night, and he doesn't want to play."
Courtney followed up throughout the day just affirming all of that- he seemed fine, continued napping well, barely ate, but didn't even shoot basketball.
Weird! But it's not like I could call the doctor and say "he's not playing basketball today" and expect them to take me seriously!
So then at dinner time, as Chad and Gabe were stuffing their food in before soccer, we stopped to pray as a family for friends who have gone into pre-term labor. While we were praying (and everyone's eyes were closed) Max grabbed Gabe's water bottle and began chugging. After the prayer, I put Max in his chair, hoping he was now hungry. And all of a sudden he threw up. But it was just water- so I assumed it was because he drank too much too fast. The only times Max has thrown up was when he ate too much too fast- so I thought that probably applied to drinking too.
Of course the throwing up scared him and made him cry, so I picked him up and set him on my lap at the table and he was ok. For a minute. And then he began the projectile stuff-- everywhere-- all over him, all over me, all over the table and floor- over and over and over. I don't even know where it all came from- because again, he didn't eat all day! Gabe disappeared to his room and shut the door (smart boy!) and Chad who was getting dressed for soccer practice began bringing me rags and wash clothes while trying to tuck in his shirt and tie his cleats.
I of course, responded like any helpful, encouraging, mature mother would- I started bawling-- sobbing, really. Suppportive, I know.
So Max was scared, stuff was flying out of his mouth and nose, he was dry heaving and looking at me with sad, confused eyes, unable to understand what was going on, and his mother was crying. Hard. After several minutes of this, Chad and Gabe has to head out (Gabe used the front door to avoid the crime scene- again, smart boy!) And it was all I could do to get us both stripped out of the puke clothes and get Max to the tub. Max was very upset that he had gotten stuff all over me- he kept saying "On Mommy" and pointing to my covered, splattered, and chunked clothing.
It took a long time to get everything cleaned back up- including two loads of laundry... and the rug is still hanging over the fence as of this morning, hoping the GA rain and storms will wash it clean. And honestly, it was all I could do not to puke myself.
Max is now on the BRAT diet-- bananas, rice, applesauce, and toast-- they are supposed to be easy on your stomach. And we were up many many times together throughout the night. Lovely. But it seems as though the things that are going in, are now staying down, and we can move on with our lives. Although, I am pretty scarred by this. And I'm sure Max is scarred as well.
I think we've been lucky to make it 20 months without a stomach virus- which was obviously God knowing that I would not handle such things well. It is/ was absolutely horrible to see my child like that- unable to help or alleviate the problem. And really, unable to even explain it at all. I just held him all night, rubbing his back, and telling him it was ok, while choking back my own pathetic tears.
This mom has had enough fun for one week- and it's only Tuesday. Yikes!