*This post is about barf. If that's a problem for you, you might want to check back another time.
I, am a vomit warrior.
Jon woke up throwing up super nachos at 10:30 last night. Poor kiddo! He's never really been sick to his stomach before, so it kind of surprised him. I mean sure he urped when he was teeny and once he got a bad Happy Meal, but he's never actually had a stomach bug until now.
I was settling in for some quality time with the TV when he hollered out, "MOM, I'M SICK!" And I'm pretty sure my feet didn't touch the floor on the way to his room, I have this fear of people choking to death on vomit-not sure where it came from.
Now nobody likes to throw up, but poor Jon has developed a little of his mother's OCD and can't stand to have anything out of order. And when kids throw up everything's out of order.
A very exasperated Jon said to me, "Mom, I have gook on my jammies. And look, it's on my blankets."
I started to strip him down to put him in the tub and came to the conclusion that over-the-head jammies are a tool of the devil and will never be worn in my house again. I almost went and got the scissors and cut them off of him because the hysterics that went along with getting a barfy shirt over his head and off his body were like nothing I have ever seen before. "My face!! You got that stuff by my FACE!! OH NO no no nooooo!"
And then, he spotted The Buddies.
The Buddies are Jon's pack of animals that he sleeps with at night. There's White Baa, who used to be a fluffy white sheep and is now a flat gray sheep; Puppy, a blue dog who for some reason, looks as good today as he did when he arrived at our house when Jon was born; Tiny the Bear, a weird little bear with a beanbag butt; and Meow-Meow, an ugly, scratchy stuffed cat that Jon claimed out of a box of my mother-in-law's stuff that we acquired after she died (she was holding Meow-Meow when she died, and it kind of creeps me out the way he hauls that thing around.)
The Buddies had been hit, and it wasn't pretty. "OH NO! MOM! My Buddieeeeees!"
Fortunately the Buddies are all machine washable, but that provided no comfort for Jon. "Those guys can't go downstairs, they need me for sleeping!" We finally settled it that the Buddies could go down to the wash for the night and that I would stay with them so they didn't get scared in the basement.
So I finally get him in and out of the tub and some clean sheets on the bed so we can get on with the evening, and as I'm tucking him back into bed he says, "Mom, I forgot to tell you, I frowed up behind the door. You need to clean that." Awesome.
I got his room completely barf free, and thank God I have two washing machines so the laundry was washed and dried before midnight in case we had to go for round two in the night.
Before he got up this morning I completely barf-proofed the place. Queen-sized sheets cover all my furniture and carpet, there's an empty coffee can in every room and the Pedialyte is chilling in the fridge. I am SO READY for the A-puke-alypse.