That was Scott’s question to me earlier as he cleaned out Leyna’s little potty after she successfully filled it to the brim.
“Uh… go to an island without them?” I replied wistfully.
It’s been that kind of day. I laid on the couch most of it, convinced I was dying from some awful plague only after ruling out every possibility that I could be pregnant. I’ve been nauseous off and on for the last few days, but never to the point of puking.
Because I fight puking with all of my being. Every last ounce of energy is used to NOT EVER PUKE.
I started to feel better this evening and suggested we go out to dinner since I didn’t feel like cooking and the kids were anxious to get out.
Little did I know that Kendall was actually serious when he told me his tummy hurt right before we left and wasn’t just playing me for bottomless soda.
“Mommy, my tummy hurts. I don’t want to eat anything. I just want to drink soda. 10 sodas.” << THAT’S WHAT HE SAID. So obviously I thought he was just being… smart.
Until he ran to the bathroom as soon as we placed our order at the restaurant, and then puked all over it.
And then all over his bed at home.
I’m glad he obviously hasn’t inherited my puke-phobia. Sorta.
The good news is I’m most definitely not pregnant because that’s not contagious. (And because, seriously, it would be impossible… but the contagion factor really sealed it for me… beyond the negative pregnancy test I took this morning. I have issues. I know.)
To entice him to stay in bed and “rest” (a.k.a. stay in the room that is already contaminated), I let him watch the Disney Jr. app on the iPad only after I stuck that bad boy in a Ziploc bag.
Feel free to pin that shit. “How to protect your iPad from your puking child,” or “DIY puke guard for the iPad.” I’m so clever.
And tired. Good night.