Three Tiny Tyrants
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11/15/2019 0 Comments Monday NightAfter enjoying a three day weekend, where all appeared seemingly healthy, and we managed to consciously avoid germ infested petri dishes like Billy Beez, I truly anticipated a full night of sleep as Mon-day turned to eve. But, as I was to find out, there were other plans in store for me.
As we put the trio to bed, Tiny, despite a stern warning from The Enforcer, jumped yet again from his top bunk bed down to Little's bed, thereby making months of our predictions ring true as Little's bedframe broke and his mattress sagged to the floor. After calming Little and creating a nice "floor nest" for him out of his mattress and blankets next to Big's bed, we said goodnight. Around midnight, I was awoken by the cries of Big, whom upon further investigation, showed signs of a fever. I snuggled next to him for a few hours until his tossing and turning (and our general sleeplessness) made me believe that some Ibuprofen was a good idea. Mistake. Literally twenty minutes after administering the ibuprofen, Big sat up straight and looked at me with saucer eyes. As quickly as motherly possibly, I dragged him out of bed, only to trip over Little's sleeping body. I sprinted back up to grab Big, but it was no good. Chunky vomit sprayed everywhere. In an effort to reduce the spray, I sacrificially threw my body in front of him, catching about half of the vomit on my jammies. With that heave over, we raced down the hall to the bathroom so he could finish. By now, Big's wails of despair intermingled with gagging woke up the household. As I stripped off my vomit covered clothing and Big's, The Enforcer appeared, blearily rubbing his eyes. In what he would later claim to be a misunderstanding of the situation, he told us to head back to bed as he shuffled back to his own cozy, warm bed. I stared after him for a few seconds before shifting into Mommy middle-of-the-night Super Hero mode. After stripping the bed and cleaning up as many spots as I could find with a headlamp, I headed outside to shake out the chunks before washing the bedding, stuffies, jammies, and blankets that were in the line of fire. As I settled Big on the couch downstairs with a plastic bucket, we endured several more bouts which thankfully made it into the bucket. At this point (3am), Little awoke, calling for mommy. Unable to leave Big's vomiting side, I pleaded through the monitor for Little to just go back to sleep. Little did not. His cries increased to hysterics, to the point that I abandoned Big and ran upstairs to show Little that I was indeed still home. Tiny, also awake due to Little's hysterics, jealously asked me what Big and I were doing downstairs together. In my kindest 3 am mommy voice, I informed him that Big was vomiting and I was cleaning it up. Tiny then asked me to fetch him some water. I told him he could use the legs I grew him to go fetch his own water. Apparently I took too long to calm the upstairs contingent of the house, because at this point, Big came hysterically crying up the stairs from abandonment. I quickly told Tiny to lay with Little and calm him down as I flew back downstairs lest Big wander too far from his giant plastic vomit bucket. And so the night endured, Big and I and the vomit bucket downstairs on the couch, as I intermittently pleaded through the monitor for Tiny and Little to go back to sleep, until morning blissfully made an entrance and I kissed any sleep I thought that I or the trio might have goodbye.
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AuthorAnna Christine is a working mother of three boys. She is a teacher, writer, learner, and a fierce advocate for inclusion. Writing is her catharsis for the tough days of parenting. Her writing has appeared on ScaryMommy: Archives
January 2019
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