How Low Can We Go?

It’s nearing midnight Friday night and I’m in the bathroom, holding E over the toilet as he pukes and the thought that runs through my head is, “This is the greatest day of my life!” The night started out with M having some kind of nightmare/night terror/sleep talking and walking incident. I was in bed reading when he started up his agitated and nonsensical talking. I finally got him woken up (I think), calmed down and back in bed when Z started crying. I went over to his end of the bed and smelled vomit. I yelled for C and we went into action (after years of puking child experience--usually M--we have this down to a science). I took Z to the bathroom to clean him up, C took the other kids into our bed (yes they all share one big bed--a story for another day) and stripped the sheets. He took everything downstairs to the washer, I remade the bed, putting towels over Z’s spot and everyone was back in bed in less than 10 minutes. Scarcely had I resumed reading, however, when I heard E fussing. Sure enough, he had started crawling out of bed when he vomited. Luckily, he hadn’t eaten much all day, so we were able to do damage control with sponging and towel-covering. For the next two hours, one or the other of the twins was up and running to the bathroom to throw up every twenty minutes. And I was so delighted by this milestone--puking in the toilet!!--that I actually, in my sleep-deprived and vomit-covered state--ranked the experience right up there with graduation, my wedding, the births of my children and whatever other days Hallmark tells us are the greatest. In the early wee morning hours M got up and started in driving the porcelain bus (he’s been an old hand at hitting the mark for some time, being a person of weak stomach, or something). Then last night, I mentioned to C that I had a headache, and he said maybe I was getting the thing, and I said, “That would be kind of nice--send everyone to daycare, and stay home puking all day.” This is how low things have gotten around here.