Barfarama

Last week took our family bonding to a new level. While getting stuck in the bathroom in the middle of the night, I groaned to Marc that I couldn't stop throwing up.

His response: "Oh.....Why is the cat meowing." (That alone was enough to make me barf.)

I was going to ask him to help me by checking on baby Max because I could hear that he was awake through the baby monitor. But I didn't even bother. Marc needed his beauty sleep and I didn't feel well enough to give a class in compassion 101.

Off I went to do some more throwing up before I was able to muster just enough energy to trudge upstairs to check on the little boy.

I got upstairs to his room and was greeted with the most horrific smell and pitiful sight I have ever seen in my whole entire life. Poor Max was covered in vomit from head to toe. Chunks of this and that were stuck to his hair and his pj's and his crib. He was officially sick and my heart was officially broken.

The pukathon continued as I rushed Max downstairs to clean him in the sink. I was fully handling the situation on my own until my stomach started to regurgitate and climb its way back up my esophagus. I think it was about that time I screamed, "Maaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrcccccc!!!!!!!!"

That began his long overdue initiation into nighttime parenting. "You clean the baby while I go barf."

Twenty-four hours, six showers and five sheet changes later, we seemed to be resting a little easier despite the fact that we couldn't eat. The stomach flu had plagued us and about 10 of our friends that were at the same bbq as us on Memorial Day.

We were nautious, feverish, shivering, and totally lethargic. The doctor said that whether we had the stomach flu or food poisoning, we should stick with the "brat diet" when it came time to reintroduce food. Banana, rice, applesauce, and dry toast were safe bets for our fragile intestines. And of course breast milk....the cure for any illness in its all nutritious beauty.

I guess Marc thought the R in "brat" stood for rack of ribs because that was the food he brought home for Max to eat. When I fell asleep, I think he fed Max an extra spicy gyro plate that made Max even sicker. Because when I woke up a few hours later, the next round of vomit clean-up took gnarly to the next level. What was he thinking?

There was no need to say "I told you so". Because it was at that point, the big, hairy, ugly faced contagious virus attacked again....with a vengeance.

For the next 24 hours, the only words I heard come out of Marc's mouth was, "I'm gonna' die."

Marc was so weak that he could barely walk. Imagine if guys had to have babies and breastfeed on the toilet with the big D while barfing. They definitely couldn't handle it and we could call them hypochondriacs. Except that we are way too nurturing and would never send that type of negative energy to someone that genuinely needed love and support.

Now that we're all feeling better, I'm so grateful the family barfathon is over. We're all feeling strong and healthy again, and maybe even a few pounds lighter.

We were co-sleeping through the whole stomach flu extravaganza and kind of got off our regular routine of sleep. I'm so proud of myself because I was able to easily transition him to sleeping in his crib again with no problem. All I did was climb in his crib with him until he fell asleep so he knew that it was a safe place and he would not be alone. It worked like a charm and all I had to do was snuggle with my best boy!


Here's a picture of Max and me on a happier day at Frankie's first birthday party. He cut his 13th tooth today and he is such a good boy.