When Henry gets sick, it is a major ordeal. If he gets the slightest bit of snot, saliva, vomit, urine, or blood on him, we must IMMIEDIATELY change ALL clothes and bed linens. No matter that his underwear, socks, and pants are fine. Never mind that the offending bodily fluid only got on a tiny corner of one pillowcase. If these items are not changed, there is much weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Then there is also the kerfuffle caused by simply being upset that he is sick. Not only does he get sick, he then cries about it. And then he whines about how the crying from the feeling bad makes his head hurt. And more often than not, these bouts of lunacy and laundry are experienced between the hours of 2 and 5 am.
So imagine my shock when at 8 am, having not heard a peep from Gracie’s bedroom all night, I was met with the overwhelming stench of vomit. Her queen sized bed was littered with the stuff. (Here is where I will not mention that last night we had Jambalaya for dinner. Nor will I mention the utter stupidity that was getting a pure white bedspread for a toddler.)
Did she call for us? No.
At my feet, in a little brown ball, hair plastered to her head in a sweaty mass, was a naked but for her diaper Gracie. She’d removed her vomit covered nightgown and tossed it in the dirty clothes. She snagged her giant doggie pinkie and her blankie, and set up shop on the clean floor of her bedroom. No need to get Mommy to change her sheets. She was fine on her own. She sat up and said, “I sick, Mommy, so I sleep on floor. I all better now.”
And the trophy for best sickie goes to Gracie Phillips.