I got THE call on Wednesday. The "your child is sick" call from school that every parent dreads. When I got the call, it was less than an hour before school would be letting out for the day, but I left as soon as I could and drove across town to retrieve her. I parked and then headed for the school office. "Hi," said the lady at the front desk. "She just threw up down there."
I walked down to my daughter's classroom. I'm not sure why she wasn't in the clinic or something, but maybe I'm just not hip to how these things work yet. When I got to the kindergarten pod, she wasn't in her classroom. The whole class was outside. I found the right door to get outside and immediately spotted the kid. She was bundled up in her snowsuit and had her backpack on, and as soon as I called her name and she turned to look at me, I could tell she felt like dump. The class's paraprofessional walked over with my daughter. "I took her to the bathroom, in case she had to go again," she said. Then she raised her hands to her mouth and attempted to pantomime something flying out of her face at a high velocity. Apparently my daughter did a number on the tile floor with the contents of her stomach. God bless the janitor, that's all I gotta say.
A wanted to be picked up so I carried her all the way back across the school and to the car. All the while I was carrying her, I was thinking, "We are breathing the same oxygen here. I will be hurling within 24 hours." I settled her into her car seat and drove her home. She said very little, which is highly unusual for her. When we got home, I de-snowsuited her and got her into some pajamas. I set her up in her bed with her portable DVD player and also handed her a bowl. And then I washed my hands in scalding hot water.
I checked on her periodically and when "Bolt" was over I said, "What would you like to watch next, baby?" And her response is how I knew she was truly sick:
"You pick something for me, Mommy." My daughter would never relinquish control over even the simplest decision in her life, so the fact that she wanted me to choose something for her told me that she was definitely down for the count. Or, that the apocalypse might be imminent.
Later, I took Gretchen to obedience class (yes, we are still doing that) and while I was gone, the kid vomited multiple times. However, she hit the bowl every time and I have to give her a lot of credit for that. I was missing the toilet right up until my teen years (you can ask my mother if you need to validate this information).
P stayed home with her on Thursday. She'd stopped puking by then, but was not eating. On Friday, we sent her back to school. She fell asleep at 6:30 p.m. on Friday evening and slept 12 hours. By Saturday, she was back to normal.
As for her parents, so far we haven't caught it. I washed my hands at least a gazillion times between Wednesday and Saturday. I didn't feel particularly great on Friday night, and when passing one of those scented "Wallflowers" in my bedroom induced a wave of nausea, I thought sure the plague had come for me, too. But, I felt fine Saturday morning and even dragged my fat ass to the gym, so there you go.
Stay tuned for the adventures of Humpy McHumperton, my new (intact) foster dog who arrived on Saturday.
I walked down to my daughter's classroom. I'm not sure why she wasn't in the clinic or something, but maybe I'm just not hip to how these things work yet. When I got to the kindergarten pod, she wasn't in her classroom. The whole class was outside. I found the right door to get outside and immediately spotted the kid. She was bundled up in her snowsuit and had her backpack on, and as soon as I called her name and she turned to look at me, I could tell she felt like dump. The class's paraprofessional walked over with my daughter. "I took her to the bathroom, in case she had to go again," she said. Then she raised her hands to her mouth and attempted to pantomime something flying out of her face at a high velocity. Apparently my daughter did a number on the tile floor with the contents of her stomach. God bless the janitor, that's all I gotta say.
A wanted to be picked up so I carried her all the way back across the school and to the car. All the while I was carrying her, I was thinking, "We are breathing the same oxygen here. I will be hurling within 24 hours." I settled her into her car seat and drove her home. She said very little, which is highly unusual for her. When we got home, I de-snowsuited her and got her into some pajamas. I set her up in her bed with her portable DVD player and also handed her a bowl. And then I washed my hands in scalding hot water.
I checked on her periodically and when "Bolt" was over I said, "What would you like to watch next, baby?" And her response is how I knew she was truly sick:
"You pick something for me, Mommy." My daughter would never relinquish control over even the simplest decision in her life, so the fact that she wanted me to choose something for her told me that she was definitely down for the count. Or, that the apocalypse might be imminent.
Later, I took Gretchen to obedience class (yes, we are still doing that) and while I was gone, the kid vomited multiple times. However, she hit the bowl every time and I have to give her a lot of credit for that. I was missing the toilet right up until my teen years (you can ask my mother if you need to validate this information).
P stayed home with her on Thursday. She'd stopped puking by then, but was not eating. On Friday, we sent her back to school. She fell asleep at 6:30 p.m. on Friday evening and slept 12 hours. By Saturday, she was back to normal.
As for her parents, so far we haven't caught it. I washed my hands at least a gazillion times between Wednesday and Saturday. I didn't feel particularly great on Friday night, and when passing one of those scented "Wallflowers" in my bedroom induced a wave of nausea, I thought sure the plague had come for me, too. But, I felt fine Saturday morning and even dragged my fat ass to the gym, so there you go.
Stay tuned for the adventures of Humpy McHumperton, my new (intact) foster dog who arrived on Saturday.