A terror that lurks just under the surface of the put-together facade of every parent.
Today, the youngest kid is sick.
She started off this morning, lazy and whining, running the smallest fever.
A little peppermint oil on the soles of her feet, and all was well.
For a while.
When her fever returned, she got lazier and whinier, and decided to take herself to bed to rest. She stayed there for several hours, sipping water, and barely moving. I moved our vaporizer to her room, and diffused some oils of lemongrass, eucalyptus, and cinnamon bark, to help with her aches and pains, stuffiness and general gross feeling.
She fell fast asleep, and I relaxed, settling into the big chair to watch Wayne's World with my son and his friend.
And then I heard it...
It sounded sort of like a distressed "MOM" and a drowning gurgle.
I raced to the back of the house to find her looking panicked and green, and shouted "GET TO THE BATHROOM, QUICK!"
Then I saw it. Everywhere. On the floor. On her blankets. On her books. On her. Dripping out of her hair, her nose, off of her hands.
So, we made the long treck to the bathroom together, her leaving a slimy trail of vomit the whole way. We blew her nose and ran a bath.
I stepped in her vomit.
HURK, you guys.
At that point, the smell hit me, and I did my best to hide my complete and utter disgust, because I didn't want her to feel any worse than she already did. But, vomit. Vomit everywhere, and now, vomit on my feet. My sock feet.
She soaked in the bath, and I made seven hundred trips between the kitchen and the vomitorium, er, her bedroom, carrying piles of blankets to the laundry room, gathering up various sprays and rags, wiping down every conceivable surface, mopping up her mattress, and trying to make this newly-created cesspool of a bedroom into a sanitary space again.
"Mom, I am so sorry," she moaned from the bath.
"Honey, it's not your fault. You couldn't help that you threw up while you were sleeping...were you sleeping?"
"No...I was awake. I just didn't want to get up."
"So...you knew you were going to get sick, and you still didn't get up?"
"Yeah. I'm so sorry, Mommy!"
"Yeah. I'm so sorry, Mommy!"
Jay-zuss, Mary and Jose. The entire back of my house is covered in vomit, smells like a public toilet, and I have another person's puke on my sock feet.
"Honey...when you know you are going to vomit, get to the toilet. I will come and help you, but get to the toilet. You can't just throw up like that. Now your sick germs are everywhere. And they are on my feet. Ok?"
Nearly done with the de-vomitization of her bedroom, I got some fresh sheets to make her bed. And that's when I saw...it.
It was brown. And smushy. And kind of wet in the middle...
And it smelled like poop. Yeah. I smelled it. With my nose.
"Sister. Is this POOP?!"
It was poop. Poop, mashed into her mattress. Actual poop, you guys.
"Oh my god. Why is there poop?!"
She explained, "I'm sorry, Mom. I thought it was a fart."
So, I'm done.
The vomit is clean, the poop is clean, the child is clean.
The mattress is going out the door as soon as the Mr. gets home from work, and if I am able to restrain myself, I won't set it on fire. Maybe.
The good news is, the sick kid is back in bed, clean and resting, and feeling just enough guilt that I know she won't purposely barf and shit everywhere next time.
And I am done in time for the Alice Cooper scene in Wayne's World.
Which is perfect, because I'm finished thinking like a grown up for the day.