Things that go gurgle in the night.
Back from class and some late-evening grocery shopping.
Family's already put to bed.
I do a little check-up of my favorite stomping grounds (mostly my blogroll, at right), and hear my younger daughter whimper in her bedroom. I start to close the comment I'm typing on someone's blog, and hear her step out of her bedroom, and burst into tears when she finds the door to the bathroom closed. I go to her, and do exactly the wrong thing: I try to comfort her.
As I'm embracing her with my arms, I notice a little vomit on the sleeve of her nightgown.
So of course, I do more of the wrong thing: I ask an obvious question. "Did you throw up, Hon?"
[In my mind's eye, I will later watch this memory as if I am spectator. And I'll shout at myself, "No, you idiot! Drag her into the bathroom and face her over the toilet. Run, you fools!" ]
My daughter, clearly in distress, nods violently, and then pukes copiously over the floor. Well. At least she got over the hardwood floors. Too bad we'd put a little rug outside the bathroom door. I take her into the bathroom.
Before she even reaches the potty, she runs for the sink. Good kid!
We do some of that for awhile.
I wash her hair and change her 'jammies, and change her sheets, and put her back to bed with a gulp of Pepto Bismol, or whatever damned brand I bought in an industrial-sized bottle. ("Now! With more pink dye!")
An hour later, after I've washed out the rug with the hose and some Spray 'N' Wash, cleaned the floor, and cleaned up the bathroom, she makes another dash out. This time, everything went into its place, and I even get her hair out of the way. (Flashbacks of my freshman year of college...) In a sudden blaze of inspiration, I find a hair tie and pull her hair back for the night.
This time I plop an empty trashcan next to her bed, with strict instructions to use it, should the need arise.
I think someone's going to have to hold off on getting to eat this evening's plunder.
_ _ _
Giving her the Pepto, knowing that I'd probably be seeing it again soon, reminded me of an experience that I overheard between my old college roommate and his unfortunate choice of a girlfriend, after she had consumed too much alcohol:
Her: I just need to throw up. I feel so sick. If I could just throw up, I'd feel better. But I can't.
Him, concerned: If you're feeling bad, would you like some of this Kaopectate, so you'll feel better?
Her: OhMyGawd, NO! I can't stand that stuff. If I taste it, I'll throw up!