I was woken up at the unholy hour of 3am to the sounds of Spencer puking in the hall.
Lovely.
I spent the rest of the 'morning' (and I use that term loosely as it was so frickin' early) cleaning the carpet, washing bedding, cleaning up Spencer, soothing him, setting up a bed for him on the couch, and waiting for him to go back to sleep. Once he did, I was so wide awake that I couldn't sleep. I finally did at around 6:30, only to wake up to Lance's alarm at 7:00.
Oh, and I did something I swore as a child that I would never do: I gave my own child a bucket to throw up in. My mom used to do that to me and for some reason I just hated it. But now I see the reason and logic, and the bucket eventually (and unfortunately) was used a bit. And Spencer didn't seem offended by it.
Well, the day dragged on. And on. And on. And Spencer got better. And better. And better. By noon he was begging me for lunch, and he ate all of it and then some.
By dinner time he and his brother were up to this in the hallway:
I'm glad he's feeling better. I don't like to see my kids sick; it makes me feel so helpless. But at the same time, I kinda felt like he should at least act a little sick! If I was gonna be exhausted from taking care of him, he should at least have the decency to be a little tired instead of all riled up.
But I guess he was. I put the boys to bed, went to do something in the kitchen, and went back into the boys' room literally two minutes later. He was sound asleep.
Lovely.
I spent the rest of the 'morning' (and I use that term loosely as it was so frickin' early) cleaning the carpet, washing bedding, cleaning up Spencer, soothing him, setting up a bed for him on the couch, and waiting for him to go back to sleep. Once he did, I was so wide awake that I couldn't sleep. I finally did at around 6:30, only to wake up to Lance's alarm at 7:00.
Oh, and I did something I swore as a child that I would never do: I gave my own child a bucket to throw up in. My mom used to do that to me and for some reason I just hated it. But now I see the reason and logic, and the bucket eventually (and unfortunately) was used a bit. And Spencer didn't seem offended by it.
Well, the day dragged on. And on. And on. And Spencer got better. And better. And better. By noon he was begging me for lunch, and he ate all of it and then some.
By dinner time he and his brother were up to this in the hallway:
I'm glad he's feeling better. I don't like to see my kids sick; it makes me feel so helpless. But at the same time, I kinda felt like he should at least act a little sick! If I was gonna be exhausted from taking care of him, he should at least have the decency to be a little tired instead of all riled up.
But I guess he was. I put the boys to bed, went to do something in the kitchen, and went back into the boys' room literally two minutes later. He was sound asleep.
2 comments:
I was always given a bucket to throw up in too. It was bright yellow and scalloped on the top rim. It's wierd how many memories are flooding back to me right now!
Glad that Spencer is feeling better! I was always given a bucket, too! S
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