This year, we watched the Super Bowl with friends who had an absolutely massive spread. Sliders. Sloppy joes. Chicken pot pie. Brownies. Just unbelievable amounts of food; so, quite naturally, we all ate unbelievable amounts of food.
You know how I live in a house full of easy pukers? With the exception of Dave, everyone in my house is super prone to the barfs– especially the J, who will throw up roughly 65% of the time she attends an event with rich food. So, last night, about an hour after going to bed, Addie J came into my room and put her head down next to me. “Um, are you okay?” I asked her, stroking her hair while also wondering if I should get my face out of the danger zone. “I don’t know. My stomach hurts,” she responded. Then she hiccuped, and in my mind, things went Defcon Two. “Okay, let’s get you set up,” I said, and I tucked her back into bed, with her trusty pink plastic bowl by her side. (Note that the bowl seems to serve as a silent witness, rather than a collection vessel. Addie generally creates ungodly messes rather than contain herself to throwing up into a bowl– but I keep giving it to her and hoping). Then I went back to bed, wondering if either of her siblings would join the fun, and also wondering how long I would get to sleep before the carnage. And then, suddenly, my alarm told me it was 5:35. I got up and went into everyone’s rooms: no one threw up.
No one threw up.
But no one threw up last night.
I’m going to be checking out the window for Four Horsemen all the way to work.