You’d think (or hope) that I’d be done with writing about the stomach flu, wouldn’t you? Well, I'm not. Last weekend Claire had climbed into bed with me in the night. I was still awake when she came in and told her she could stay as long as she went to the bathroom first. I have a feather bed that I love and did not want any problems that involved the industrial size machines at a Laundromat.
A few hours later I was awakened by a horrendous sound that originated from my nighttime companion. The noise was the really loud burp that signals beginning stage of reverse peristalsis, which is never a good thing.
Upon hearing the offending noise my first thought was “Oh my God, this kid is going to puke in my bed” and priority number one became to get her out of my bed ASAP. I remember looking over while simultaneously blurting out, “Get up, get up, get up!” Claire said, “I am!” and ran for the bathroom.
I followed behind to help her still shocked that I had managed to save the feather bed. After Claire was feeling better, I escorted her back to her bed explaining that it was just better that way.
I’m probably not going to get any parenting awards for that little confession, am I?