If The Kid were a dinosaur, she'd be a Pukasaurus Rex.
While other people's kids get things like ear infections, fevers, and strep throat, my kid hurls.
She pukes when she's mad, sad, happy, scared, sick, tired, and just about any other occasion you can think of, too.
She doesn't have to be the least bit ill to throw up.
At least once every couple of weeks she wakes me up in the middle of the night to tell me she's thrown up in the bed.
And even better is the fact that on these nights, it seems like she's made herself a veritable nest of blankets, pillows, sleeping bags, extra clothes, and stuffed animals, so clean up is never a simple thing. It is hours and hours of laundry, bed making, refolding, and resorting.
Sometimes, like last night, her little brother, who insists on sleeping in the same bed as someone (anyone, really, he's not picky), gets the royal treatment as well. If throw up could ever be considered a skin restorative, he's the luckiest kid on earth.
So, at 1:30 am, here are two little vomit covered demons by the side of my bed, both crying like the world is going to end, wanting to be bathed with this soap, not that soap.
By the time I had everything stripped down, both kids washed and back in bed (there was a second incident, followed by required shushing and putting-back-to-bed-ness at least three times), it was almost 4.
And Husband? Sleeps right through the entire thing. When I come back in my next life, I want to sleep like a man.
But the real trick here is getting through the entire next day. It is currently 11:40. I've been up for good since before 6. The only thing I've actually accomplished is staring blankly at the walls in between loads of laundry. When husband left for work he tried to prepare me by reminding me that "if I act enthusiastic, I'll be enthusiastic".
I almost punched him in the throat and said, "Enthusiastic THIS."