November 2, 2010

Puke-a-palooza (Deux)

Sunday, 11:00 pm. 
The kids are in bed.  The Expert and I settle in to go to sleep.   This is good for a Sunday.  I am ready for some good sleep, an early morning spinning class, a good start to the week.  

Just as I start to drift off, I hear an old familiar rumbling sound over the monitor, and I brace myself for the horror.  James instantly begins to scream in decibels of terror, and I nearly kill myself scurrying up the stairs.  I was unprepared for the aftermath.

Puke-a-palooza, Part Deux. 

The smell hits me first and then I scan over the Big Boy Bed, which is covered in upchuck.  The mess was running down the wall near the bed.  James was sitting up, with a horrified look on his face, holding a puddle of goo in his trembling little paws.  The stuff was, literally, everywhere.  I call for the Expert (who, thankfully, appeared fully clothed to this emergency). We start the cleanup of the room, the kid, the doggy and dinosaur bedmates.  The kid is wiped down, re-jammied, and rocked.

Me:       Are you ok?
James:  I ok.
Me:       Tummy ok? Feel good?
James:  I feel good.

He says he feels good, and I trust him.  (Parenting rule of thumb: never trust a three year old.)  The Expert and I head back to bed. 

The sound again.  Rumble rumble rumble, scream scream scream.  This time, the sound of both the Expert and I pounding up the stairs like a herd of elephants.  We open the door. 

James:   I burped.
Me:        Yes. Yes, you did. 
James:   I need tubby.
Me:        Yes. Yes, you do.

I scan the room, and see that the wall got it again.  And the sheets.  Well, basically everything that wasn't hit before, got hit this time.  We lather, rinse, repeat.  Sheets off, jammies off.  James is upset.  We put him in the tub, and he calms down.

I throw the casualties of cloth into the washer, and we are back in the bed.

Puke. Rinse. Repeat.


By this time, I have managed to wash and dry the first round of dirty laundry.  I'm thinking, at least we have clean stuffed animals.  However, the washer is now full of odd puke balls.  Apparently, some of the puke failed to dissolve and was centrifuged into neat little pellets.   

The Expert and I cannot bear the thought of leaving the baby monkey to puke again, alone.  So we put him our bed.  For the first time. Ever.  We are strong opposers to co-sleeping, the family bed, whatever you want to call it.  Not going to happen in this house.  But this is a special circumstance.  James curls up between us, and is laying there so sweet, and so quiet Oh my goodness, I'm thinking, so this is why people co-sleep. This is awesome.   I resist the idea of grabbing Stella from upstairs and pulling her into this blissful state too.

The Expert is starting to doze.  James is wiggling a little bit, but so far, so good.  The Expert has his shirt off.  I see James roll over.  I hear teeny giggles.

James:     Nipples!  Nipples!  Daddy!  (hysterical laughter) 

The Expert and I start to giggle too.  I look at the clock.  Oy vey.  I'm starting to doubt the co-sleeping nirvana.

Me:         James, we have to calm down.  Time for night night.
James:    I see the moon!  The moon!  Oh!  What! I think I see jellyfish!
Me:         No, there's no jellyfish.
James:    And the jellyfish! I saw it.
Me:         No.
James:    And the puppy dog. And his tail. Oooh! I see my tail.
Me:         James, go to sleep.
James:    (singing) The wheels on the bus go round-a-round, round-a-round.....

After countless rounds of "Wheels on the Bus," assorted gymnastic maneuvers across the bed, and a foot to my eyeball, I am cursing the co-sleeping.  Or co-playing.  Or whatever it is.  Either way, it has to go. 

Then James is very still, and I hear it.  The rumbles.  The Expert grabs James, and they head to the bathroom.  Kudos to the Expert, who managed to get that kid to the sink and not a drop of the icky stuff anywhere.  

Child is back in bed with us.  Strangely, he's completely wired.  I can't believe the stomach bug has no effect on the energy level.  More singing, dancing and overall lunacy. The Expert and I are fading fast.  My dreams of my 4:45am wake-up call for spinning class are gone.

Co-sleeping is for idiots.  Back upstairs with the monkey.  Into the Big Boy Bed.  Fingers crossed and rounds of night night.

I hear the familiar screams.  This has passed the point of crazy, but upstairs the Expert and I go.  Turning on the hall light, I peer into the room, eyes darting about wildly for signs of puke.  I don't see anything.  We check out the bed, James, the walls.  Nothing.  Where is it?  Where is the puke?

I look at James, who is smiling.  

No way.  That kid pulled a faux puke?  For attention? Good grief.

The Expert and I are back in the bed.  I'm not sure why.  Five minutes later, the sound of my alarm shakes me into action.  Sweet. 


The Toddler said...

Funny, we had the same experience with Charlotte on the exact same night (although, she only puked twice) ... and, yes, we (also vehmently anti-co-sleepers) gave into the hysterical BabyKid (who had never had a puking experience before) and put her in bed with us, which did result in a "wired for sound" munchkin.

Mere said...

That is CRAZY! The same night?!? I think Charlotte and James are long lost twins... if so, I feel equally as sorry for you as I do for myself. :)