Going to my happy place…

Last night was another pukey night at the house of germs. Dramamama was the latest victim…I heard her gagging/coughing around 4 AM. She was on her way to the bathroom, ralphing a little trail of bile along the way. We dealt with that (again…so grateful Snoop’s home cause these kind of nights are SO much worse when you’re alone!), and she came to bed with me. She is the most talkative little thing when she wakes up in the middle of the night, and as tired as I was…her voice still sounded so sweet. “I woke up and thought my belly felt like it had to throw up, so I got out of bed and turned off my night light and turned off my music and started to go to the bathroom because I know that’s where the throw up should go but I threw up on my floor, and then I threw up on my floor again, and then I threw up on the floor again but this time it was in the hall and that’s when you came out and said ‘Are you OK sweetie?’ and I said ‘I threw up’ and you helped me to the bathroom and I threw up on the floor, and then in the toilet and I got it in my hair and my belly still hurts a little bit.” I commended her for being so thorough in her recount of the situation, and suggested that perhaps the next time she felt like she was going to throw up she skip the night light and music and haul ass to the bathroom. Snoop came in to use the bathroom (he decided to move away from pukey-butt and spend the rest of the night in her bed), and asked her if she was OK. She took this as an opportunity to tell the entire story again (guess she didn’t notice that he had already gone in the bathroom and closed the door and her mother was trying to sleep next to her). She got to about “I turned off my night light,” when she stopped and said to me “I know I already told you this, but I want to tell you again because this is very important information.” So I listened to the whole thing again, told her what a big girl she was for making it to the bathroom (again!), and managed to fall asleep. For about five minutes, when the gagging started again. She made it to the bathroom this time, narrating the entire process (“my belly is feeling funny…I think it might throw up again…I just threw up…now my mouth tastes yucky…I think I’m done.”). Back to bed, where she asked for Daddy to come and “snuggle me and take care of me.” About ten minutes later…more gagging, and this time there was vomit on the bed. My bed. Took care of it (thanks, Snoop<3), and spent the rest of the night (actually morning…since by this time it was about 5:30) teetering on the edge of her bed with her, trying to “snuggle her and make her feel better” without choking on the stench of stale vomit radiating from her head.  She was peacefully sleeping, as was Snoop, when I drug my ass to the shower an hour later.  Boog woke up just as I was about to leave, and told me his belly wasn’t “feeling right” either, so I have a feeling Snoop’s got a long day ahead of him at home today.  He’s home with the kids while they’re on Spring Break this week (what a way they chose to celebrate!), and so far the most exciting thing that’s happened was Noah’s “wet fart” experience yesterday at Sonic.  Which, of course, Drama offered the play-by-play of as soon as I got home from work.

So, while I feel like shit myself today…I’m kinda glad to be at work.  Not because I feel like working, but I am really tired of cleaning up puke, wiping shitty asses, and washing my hands.  And I need to order some new business cards, because I have a new title, folks.  During an intake yesterday, with a 3 1/2 year old Autistic kiddo, I was dubbed a “retarded butt-crack.”  He wasn’t extremely verbal, and when he did speak the combination of poor articulation and white trash Southern drawl made him nearly impossible to understand.  But the words “retarded butt-crack” came out clear as day.  It took all I had to hold it together…avert eye contact with my co-worker, L, (who has a sense of humor like a 7-yr old boy and can’t get enough of butts, farts, poop, and zits)…and ignore the comment.  The second that kid was gone, though…I lost it.   L shared the news with everyone that I am the new retarded butt-crack of the center, and will be addressed as such.  I’m excited to get more letters after my name.  So, yeah…I need to order some new business cards and practice my new signature:  Amanda Smith, M.S., R.B.C.  I should maybe look at getting a plaque for my door, too.