**Author's warning: this entry contains a graphic description last night's Target run...reader discretion advised. In other words, don't read this on your lunch break**
So here's a shocker: the girls had the stomach flu. I swear they NEVER get colds. I could put them naked in the snow for 40 minutes and they wouldn't get so much as a sniffle (Please note this is theoretical-I would never put them naked into the snow, so don't call Child Protection!).
Abigail started dry heaving at 2 in the morning Tuesday - I DID warn you - and was full-on sick by 6. But then after a few quick purges and a long morning nap, it seemed she had kicked the bug and was ready to run in circles and shove Sister with all her might. They both ate dinner like troopers, although understandably so, Abigail picked at her food a little more than normal.
We thought we were all good to take the weekly trek to Target for supplies. So we headed the roughly 5 blocks down and 9 blocks over to the local Super-store where we each grabbed our respective girl (I took Abbie, Chris took Ellie-this is a pattern that is almost a constant in every aspect of our lives) and a cart and negotiated through the aisles with our list.
Back at Casa de Gato y Ninas, we had promised the girls that we would look through the toy section if they were good. I wanted to hit the clearance aisles in clothing, as I had heard good things. We also wanted to take an inventory of toys as the girls' birthday is fast approaching and we wanted to sound intelligent, hip, and generally with it when people asked us what they could use in the entertainment area of their lives. Both girls did really well letting go of the Yo Gabba toys and the dolls and bike helmets that accumulated as we traversed the section.
Our main goals accomplished, we decided it was time to hit the checkouts and get home. So, Eleanor and Chris headed off down the main aisle with Abigail and I. We got about one aisle away from toys when I heard 3 things: SPLAT, expletive from Chris, and then Eleanor crying hysterically. I started to say, "What happened?" Chris loudly said, "STOP!" As I tried to stop, I started to slip and then finally looked down to notice that I was standing in a pile of puke. Abbie deftly said, "Uh-oh. Sister's crying. What's wrong Sistah? Oh. OOPS!"
The next few minutes were a blur, but I know I did call the operator. She didn't seem to be getting that "sick" equals ralphed all over your floor and snappy red cart, just in a gentler way. Finally, light dawned on darkened skies as she said, "OH! You mean she...vomited?" Apparently vomited is one of those words that like cancer and polyps, must be whispered so it doesn't affect you. Anyway, a red-shirted girl appeared almost instantly with a huge walkie talkie. We were, of course very apologetic to her, because every parent plans and hopes for A) their child to blow chunks in public and B) to have apologize profusely to the 16 year old kid who has to clean it up.
At this point, we switched babies and the still crying E and I headed for the bathroom and Abbie and Chris went to pay for our stuff. Well, after a difficult 3 minutes of gagging and wretching, I gave up trying to clean the poor girl up. As we exited the family restroom, I ran into the sullen kid who was sent to mop the floor in aisle 68, gave him our nasty cart and pretty much booked out of the store.
So there you have it Dear Readers, every parent's worst nightmare. Well, at least it's right up there with your dear child either swearing loudly or uttering family secrets in public. To be honest, I think I'd gladly take the F-bomb in church over public vomiting. Hopefully we never have to do that experience again, but knowing our luck, we probably will. Let's just hope that Tyler the cart attendant is off that night.
Abigail started dry heaving at 2 in the morning Tuesday - I DID warn you - and was full-on sick by 6. But then after a few quick purges and a long morning nap, it seemed she had kicked the bug and was ready to run in circles and shove Sister with all her might. They both ate dinner like troopers, although understandably so, Abigail picked at her food a little more than normal.
We thought we were all good to take the weekly trek to Target for supplies. So we headed the roughly 5 blocks down and 9 blocks over to the local Super-store where we each grabbed our respective girl (I took Abbie, Chris took Ellie-this is a pattern that is almost a constant in every aspect of our lives) and a cart and negotiated through the aisles with our list.
Back at Casa de Gato y Ninas, we had promised the girls that we would look through the toy section if they were good. I wanted to hit the clearance aisles in clothing, as I had heard good things. We also wanted to take an inventory of toys as the girls' birthday is fast approaching and we wanted to sound intelligent, hip, and generally with it when people asked us what they could use in the entertainment area of their lives. Both girls did really well letting go of the Yo Gabba toys and the dolls and bike helmets that accumulated as we traversed the section.
Our main goals accomplished, we decided it was time to hit the checkouts and get home. So, Eleanor and Chris headed off down the main aisle with Abigail and I. We got about one aisle away from toys when I heard 3 things: SPLAT, expletive from Chris, and then Eleanor crying hysterically. I started to say, "What happened?" Chris loudly said, "STOP!" As I tried to stop, I started to slip and then finally looked down to notice that I was standing in a pile of puke. Abbie deftly said, "Uh-oh. Sister's crying. What's wrong Sistah? Oh. OOPS!"
The next few minutes were a blur, but I know I did call the operator. She didn't seem to be getting that "sick" equals ralphed all over your floor and snappy red cart, just in a gentler way. Finally, light dawned on darkened skies as she said, "OH! You mean she...vomited?" Apparently vomited is one of those words that like cancer and polyps, must be whispered so it doesn't affect you. Anyway, a red-shirted girl appeared almost instantly with a huge walkie talkie. We were, of course very apologetic to her, because every parent plans and hopes for A) their child to blow chunks in public and B) to have apologize profusely to the 16 year old kid who has to clean it up.
At this point, we switched babies and the still crying E and I headed for the bathroom and Abbie and Chris went to pay for our stuff. Well, after a difficult 3 minutes of gagging and wretching, I gave up trying to clean the poor girl up. As we exited the family restroom, I ran into the sullen kid who was sent to mop the floor in aisle 68, gave him our nasty cart and pretty much booked out of the store.
So there you have it Dear Readers, every parent's worst nightmare. Well, at least it's right up there with your dear child either swearing loudly or uttering family secrets in public. To be honest, I think I'd gladly take the F-bomb in church over public vomiting. Hopefully we never have to do that experience again, but knowing our luck, we probably will. Let's just hope that Tyler the cart attendant is off that night.
1 comment:
Wow. I'm sure that will totally happen to us soon. Frankie had his first cold this week. Woke up to him choking on his own mucus Monday morning. It was pretty scary. I don't thing any of us have slept very well this week and now I have a cold!
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