My office hour is about to start. We'll see if anyone comes today, or if I get this post finished today.
We've had a good summer and fall, puke-wise. The Maestro traditionally goes on a food-strike whenever he gets a cold, because the mucus ends up in his stomach, and anything else that goes in makes him throw up. I blame Riley's genes for this. I think that not eating wheat has helped him. He's only had one cold since the spring, that I remember, and he didn't throw up with it.
Hildr has a cold right now. Tuesday night, she wouldn't eat any dinner, and just wanted to lay with her head on my shoulder. About 1:30 in the morning, I was laying in bed, listening to her softly gagging in the other room. I wasn't worried, because she has always insisted on sleeping on her stomach, much to the horror of pediatricians everywhere. (Riley is now upset that I have shared this with the world.) Soon, however, she fully woke up and started to cry. I didn't think that she would go back to sleep without some soymilk, because she didn't eat any dinner; and low-blood sugar does that to my kids. Riley blames my genes for this. So I got up, helped her drain a sippy-cup, and she fell asleep in my arms.
As I was slowly lowering her back into her crib, it happened. Hack! Puking down into her bed understandably woke her up, and she was upset. It was dark, so I didn't know how much had come up, and how much was on her, or anything. I started down the hall to the bathroom, but only made it into the hallway before round two started. I stepped back into her bedroom, on the spot just between the hallway carpet and the area rug. Once I was over linoleum, I just stood there as the waves of sticky soymilk vomit crested over my right shoulder and cascaded down my back and onto the floor. Once, twice, three times a lady.
It turned out that Hildr was relatively clean, and Riley took her to bed while I cleaned everything up. This is not among my favorite reasons to need a shower at 1:30 in the morning.
I made it back to bed to find that Hildr had developed Twitchy-leg syndrome, and wouldn't stop kicking me. This will not do. I started to take her back to her bed and made it almost to the door when I discovered that her stomach wasn't empty yet. Oops. Luckily, the dirty laundry basket was handy and she was pointed mostly away from me.