I took Elliot to the medical clinic tonight for an issue related to his boy parts (we’ll just keep it at that to protect his dignity). As we were waiting our turn, he told me his tummy hurt. This was the third time he’d told me that today, and usually it means he has to poop. So we went into the bathroom. I pulled down his pants and tried to put him on the toilet, and he planked on me. I put him back on the floor, and he complained again about his tummy. He then grabbed his throat and sputtered “I’m going to spit-up, Mum!”. I knew vomit was imminent. I had the wherewithal to get out of his way, but not to point him toward the toilet. He proceeded to puke all over the bathroom floor, his clothes and his shoes, all with his pants halfway down his legs.
The poor guy. Although he felt so much better afterwards that he perked up right away, and watched while I cleaned up the bathroom floor. I could have let the receptionist do it, but I felt bad for her, cleaning up some other kid’s puke. So she gave me gloves and some cleaner and I did it. We had a long wait, so it gave me something to do. This is the first time I’ve had to clean up that particular type of mess, and I dreaded this day. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
We finished up our wait in the clinic, went to the pharmacy to get some drugs, then headed home. Thankfully the second puke session happened in our bathroom, in front of the toilet, and it all made it in the bowl, thanks to Greg.
As Greg mentioned in a recent tweet, we are dreading the middle-of-the-night clean-up that is bound to be happening tonight.
Oh, and let this be a lesson that carrying around a spare set of clothes for your child is not wasted effort.