Day three of the Long vomitorium. James now has the stomach flu.
In all my five years of motherhood, throw up is something I still can't get a handle on. Fevers? No problem - I've got that tylenol/motrin alternating thing down pat. Cough and congestion? I can do that - I can administer albuterol breathing treatments with the best of 'em - I can deal with babies who don't know how to breathe out of their mouths when their noses are stopped up beyond belief - I can drop saline solution in their noses and then suck it out with the 'boogie bulb' as named in our house. Croup? Yep - I've learned how to steam 'em out in the bathroom with the shower running full blast/screaming hot and then stick their little faces in the freezer to clear out the gunk. Diaper blow outs? Sure - I can deal with changing diapers, cleaning up that kind of mess with no issues.
But throw up? For some reason, cleaning up something that has been in someone else's tummy gives me the willies. Still. After five years of cleaning up puke, I still hate it. HATE. IT.
Thankfully Deonne has no problem with it - as evidenced by his placid manner of cleaning up the messes that have come and gone over the years. While I'm tempted to throw out clothes for the sake of not wanting to deal with them, he'll patiently rinse them out, then wash them in hot water, and they're no worse for the wear.
So it's hard for me - really hard - to be at home, by myself, with two puking kids. Anna is better at it then James these days, she knows when it's coming and thankfully uses the bucket. James just doesn't want to do it at all - and seems to think that if he doesn't have the bucket under his face he'll suddenly stop. He's the wild card right now - the cause of two full loads of laundry. Since he's been home today. At 1:30 pm.
Please lord, don't let anyone else get this yucky bug...