by Mary Lewis
After raising three children of my own I should be used to the sound of gagging and the inevitable splash that follows. I’ve cleaned up countless messes at two a.m. But, this last incident was impressive even by my standards.
I woke to the sound of a cough, not unusual for the month of January in the Midwest. Then I heard feet coming down the stairs, and gagging, and then a knock on my bedroom door. I opened the door to my nine year old trying to talk, although he should’ve been running for the bathroom.
I urged him toward the toilet but he still managed to christen the wall and the floor. When he was finished, I asked him if there was more… elsewhere. He croaked out “the stairwell.” Yep, he had puked well and goodly on the way downstairs. He put the little girl in The Exorcist to shame.
The stench was so strong my husband turned a pasty shade of gray and had to open the outside door for enough cold, fresh air to keep from passing out. Granted, he has a weak stomach, but I don’t, and I was having a hard time with the smell. It was awful.
I got him in the shower and cleaned up the mess in the bathroom, thinking I would get him settled on the couch and be back in my warm bed in no time. I was wrong. It took half an hour to clean up the stairs, and we ended up pulling up the carpet runner from four of them. There was just no saving it.
Finally, the kiddo was tucked in and comfy on the couch. I was just drifting off when I heard retching again. I stuck my head around the doorframe and asked “Are you ok?”
Cam said “Yep, I got it all in the bucket this time!”
I said “Great job, buddy!”
Then I went back to bed.