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The dreaded stomach bug. Ugh. Poor Truman guy has been sick since very early Monday morning and though we thought we were in the clear today, it seems we are not. He was fever free and feeling fine this morning when we dropped him off at daycare. The call came in at 9:18, “Truman threw up!” So, daddy is at home with him and I am at work, wishing I was at home with him. There is something so torturous about being away from your babies when they are sick. I know he’s in good hands, but it is still killing me. Truman has thrown up before, but this is the first time he has had a prolonged stomach virus. Since Monday I have learned a few things.

1. Two year olds cannot direct their vomit.

I put a towel down on my bed and had him lay on it. I came back two minutes later to find him holding a handful of puke and sitting in a Pedialyte colored puddle 1 inch to the left of the towel, directly on the bed. At one point I had to ask myself if he wanted to puke on the furniture instead of an area that was easy to clean. I’m still undecided.

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No pictures please!

2. Easter buckets make fine puke buckets.

This year I grabbed $0.98 plastic buckets from Wal-Mart to use for Easter baskets. They were cute and did the job. I wondered what I could use them for after the candy was eaten and the grass thrown out; maybe to house little toys? A place to keep the little plastic balls that normally roll all over my living room? They proved themselves useful the very next day when I had Truman throw up into one in an attempt to save the couch. Easily rinsed and just the right size, the Easter basket became the puke basket. He has puked in Grant’s and ours… strangely enough he didn’t puke in his own.

3. It is a constant struggle to resist allowing your child to guzzle.

Truman was literally and pitifully begging me for water. As soon as he was done throwing up, he’d ask. I would give him a tablespoon of Pedialyte and he would immediately ask for more. It took everything I had not to hand over the entire half gallon and let him chug away. He was so thirsty and I didn’t care anymore if he was going to wildly spew liquids all over everything, if I could only make him happy. I refrained and set my phone timer for every five minutes. He was so excited when it went off and he could get his next tablespoon. Sad!

4. Sick kids are way nicer and cuddlier than healthy kids.

I felt awful for him and wanted nothing more than for him to feel better… but I must admit I sort of loved having Truman curl up next to me, snuggle into my lap and nap in my arms. He wrapped his sweet little arms around me ten times more than usual the last two days and I eagerly accepted his affection. It beats the hell out of getting Fo-Popped in the face and kicked in the boob like usual.

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I’ll take cuddles no matter the circumstances.

5. Poop is worse than puke.

I thought nothing was worse than cleaning up a vomity kid. Then I went to get Truman after his nap on Monday to find him sitting in a puddle of poo. Not cool at all. You just don’t know where to start. You can’t pull anything poop covered over his head, it is impossible to keep his hands out of it and using wipes is like trying to mop up the Pacific ocean with a Kleenex. Everything and everyone must be carried at arms length directly into the nearest shower or tub… or hose. Tru has had more baths in the last two days than in the last two months combined. I’m not even kidding.

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Baths are awesome even when you feel like hot garbage.

6. If you thought the laundry was out of control before…

On Monday morning I already had around seven loads of laundry waiting to be done. (Whatever, it was a busy weekend and a holiday. Don’t judge me.) I started the washer after the first vomit explosion Monday at 3:30 am and it stopped running for the first time Tuesday night at 11:00 pm. I may have washed every towel in the house three times. Blankets too. My sheets alone were washed twice. The good news, is that I have one load of rags left to be washed and the clothing that we slept in last night – and that is it! Nothing like a contagious and messy illness to light a fire under my laundry loathing ass.

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Least amount of dirty laundry I’ve had in three years.

7. The fear.

Aside from the obvious worry about the afflicted child, I am still terrified that this vile disease will make it’s way through all of us. I have had sick germs wrapped around my body for 48 hours straight, I’ve been puked on three times and pooped on once. Mike has been pooped on as well. I’ve tried my hardest to keep Grant far, far away from Truman, but when the big brother wants to “touchhhhh” the little brother all of the time it is really difficult! I have contemplated putting Grant in some sort of bubble, but I have yet to figure out how. I’ve already missed two days of work, Mike has missed two days of work and if Grant comes down with this it could mean much more time off and potentially a hospital trip. If Mike comes down with it, I’ll still probably have to stay home to take care of him (does anyone have a husband that handles sickness well?) If I come down with it, no one will care and I’ll have to suffer through. Probably while working.

8. Where there’s a will, there’s a way!

Truman perked up a little bit Monday night right before we went to bed. He loves feeding and watering the dog, so Mike allowed him to help. I heard a strange noise near McGillicutty’s dishes and when I came around the corner, there was Truman. His feet were shoulder width apart, knees locked, back straight, his golden head was thrown back and he was just a’chugging the bottle of water Mike had handed him to give to McGillicutty. Here was the thing he had begged for all day, only to be doled out in stupid spoonfuls; turned over to him with no effort at all. If he had only asked to water the dog earlier! Thankfully, he did not instantly vomit the belly full of water back up, and actually kept it down all night. Tuesday, after 24 hours without food, feeling feverish and weak, plus having diarrhea, he managed to use the big boy potty twice. His condition did not stop him from demanding his reward of chocolate chips (Or as Truman calls them, “cocky pits.”)

So, hopefully the worst is behind us and I’ve learned all I need to know about gastroenteritis! Now, only about 20 more years of this kind of crap to go!

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