It was midnight, after hubby and I had been out for the night, that I wake up to B crying. I figure he woke up and maybe had an accident. Those things upset him for reasons I still don't know. I head to his room where he is standing close to the the door and as I step in to check to see if he is wet, I step right into a mushy puddle in front of him. Oh boy, after 4 years of life, sweet B had never thrown up and had no idea what was happening to him. I quickly clean up the mess, get him to the bathroom and hold his head while he proceeds to get sick again, in the toilet this time. Then I do as my mom did, I put him to bed, get the bucket and a damp cloth out for him and tell him it will be okay and try to rest. I crawl back in bed and 20 minutes later I hear him again. Run to his room, help him with the bucket and settle him back down, then go back to bed. This routine goes on for a few hours before I realize I am better off staying in his room at the end of his bed and helping him when needed until morning. And trying to get some rest myself squeezed into a twin bed with my 4 1/2 year old.
Motherhood that night took on a whole new meaning to me. I did count my blessing that B had never gotten that sick in his first 4 yrs and that he is at an age now that he can somewhat understand what being sick is. I can't imagine what it would be like for a 2 or 3 yrs to be that sick but I am sure I will have a story about J long before he reaches 4 1/2. I don't think I could be that lucky again.
