Mommy Doesn't Know Best.

I knew that one day "it" would happen, I just didn't think that it would happen this soon. All along, (meaning for 3.10 years), I have been the relieved mother who boasts that "it" has never happened to her child. I have heard stories of parents who have experienced this and felt pity for them, while secretly beaming with pride on the inside. I dreaded the day when Owen would start school and become exposed to something like this, but felt safe that "it" would not happen yet. But in my naivety, I neglected to consider playgroup, which he attends twice a week with five other kids. For the past three weeks, it has only been Owen and two other girls who have been at playgroup; three of the children (all cousins), had been mysteriously absent for three weeks. For the past three weeks, Owen has been returning from playgroup with nary a cold, but then the three cousins returned on Monday. And this week? This week saw the Great Puking Disaster of April 2011, and I am totally blaming the three cousins for it.


Owen has never been sick, other than the occasional cold. (Ben has been car sick once this past Christmas, which was a treat in and of itself, but slightly different than this morning). Owen refused to eat dinner last night, claiming that he was "too full", so I was feeling a little cautious this morning when he woke up. He claimed to be feeling fine, and willing to go to playgroup. I set up his usual breakfast, a cup of milk, one banana, and a blueberry muffin, then took Ben upstairs to get him dressed. I came back down to discover that Owen had barely touched any of his breakfast; he had finished some of his milk and taken one bite of banana. He told me that he didn't want it, but I insisted that he needed to eat something because he had not eaten anything the night before and needed something in his belly before going to playgroup. I gave him the choice of the banana or muffin and he chose the banana.

He took one or two bites and then, you guessed it, not even one minute later, bananas and milk all over the kitchen! And where was I? Running for the hills. I deserted my first-born in his hour of need and left my youngest on the battlefield in the line of fire while I hightailed it for cover. Not until the coast appeared clear did I return to ground zero, and immediately swooped up Owen and placed him in the bathroom over the toilet, where he proceeded to get sick again. And what did I do then? Left my poor child hanging over the toilet, and escaped as fast as I could to send Daddio the following text:

GROSS! Owen just puked all over the kitchen! What the hell. 

Daddio then called me to discuss what had just happened, all while Owen was still dangling over the toilet, waiting for me to return and come to his rescue. And then from the safety of the laundry room, I called into the bathroom to ask Owen if he was finished, to which he replied, "Mom. I think I's done. Can you clean this off my leg?"

Um, what?

It was bad enough that I was already gagging from the smell emanating from the kitchen (even with all of the windows wide open), but now I had to actually clean up the nastiness? Gross. But I did it. I stripped Owen free of his jammies, threw him in the shower, threw the clothes in the washer, grabbed a washcloth and wiped up the tiny little mess that he made in the bathroom. But then I had to tackle the kitchen, and that is where I almost lost breakfast myself. (I do not cope well with puke. I would rather clean up a poopy mess than a pukey one). To spare you the details, I will just say that everything is now spic and span, quadruple-bagged and Owen is on the couch watching Toy Story 3. I really think that someone needs to start a business that comes around to your house to clean up sick messes for you. If I never have to do that again, I will be a happy mommy.

And today's lesson learned? When your child refuses to eat breakfast because he is "too full", listen to him. Let him stay on the couch if that's what he wants. Let him watch television all morning if that's all he wants to do. Or better yet, just plop that little bugger in front of the toilet, but whatever you do, DO NOT make him eat anything, just because you are the mommy and you "know best".