Vomit-town USA

Trigger Warning: The following story contains descriptions of vomiting. So, so much vomit. Read on with caution.

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My father used to tell me to look for a good man, I should always pay attention to how he treats the helpers. You know, the grocery store clerk and the janitor. “It’s easy for someone to be a gentleman when everyone’s watching”, he’d say, “but how they treat others when they think no one else is looking- that’s the true measure of his character.”

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It’s 4pm on a Wednesday evening and I am just getting off work when the phone rings. “Just to warn you,” my husband huffs into the line “M just threw up. Like projectile vomit all over the carpet.” No. No no no no no. I refuse to accept it. WE WILL NOT GET THIS STOMACH BUG. It’s just a one-off. She probably ate something weird. We’ll be fine. (I’m in grief stage 1: Denial) I pump extra hand sanitizer and chew a few extra airborne gummies for good measure, even though I know that’s not how stomach viruses spread.

I arrive home to my husband diligently cleaning up the carpet. In the evening we are divided between catching vomit from the two year old and the 5 year old exclaiming “I need to read this book for school but I don’t know how to read by myself and I need youuuuuu to sit with me!” Vomit or no vomit, come hell or high water, my child is determined to get her reading minutes in!

The next several hours we alternate between sleeping and waking when the baby wakes to change her and the sheets. Here’s something no one ever prepares you for before you become a parent: the amount of bodily fluids you will have to clean up.

I lose count of how many times we do this, but I can tell you from experience that the odds of getting your toddler to vomit into the bucket that is right next to their face is slim to none. Her beloved stuffy, “big dog” and several blankets also end up on the list of casualties for the evening.

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A few days pass and we think we’re past it. No one else has succumbed to the stomach flu and so we think we may just be off the hook- just in time for a rare, quiet, relaxing weekend at home together.

HA!

Soon after I wake, I hear it. My husband has gone down! Clearly, the relaxing weekend will have to wait. Admittedly, (in the throws of stage 2: Anger) I make some selfish remark about how now he can relate to how I felt during the months of dealing with hyperemesis during pregnancy. I can humbly admit now, I did not read the room.

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12 hours later I am joining him in the throws of vomit-town. The night is a blur of twilight induced fever dreams and waking just to wretch up more. In my clammy stupor I register my husband, rubbing my back. He’s now running on night two of little to no sleep, but nevertheless I hear him bringing me water, checking on the baby. At some point I sigh “will it ever end!?!?” (stage 3: bargaining) which ironically were the exact words I did scream out in labor with my firstborn. He doesn’t say I told you so.

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The next day we’re both sitting on the couch half-conscious and looking around at the mess that is our house. “It’s a war-zone” I whisper, piles of laundry and dishes everywhere, children running around. “But we won the battle!” he cries! (I laugh, but all I can think of is stage 4: Depression- induced by laundry overload)

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Last year, when my husband was going through the interview process to become a Deacon at our church, our pastor sat with us and asked me what I thought about it. He said something along these lines: that every act of service outside the home must flow from the love within the home. That a man’s first and foremost priority is to love his family well.

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Here’s where we were loved well this week: In the middle of the night, where no one saw the changing of dirty sheets, the bringing of ice cold water, and the whispered hushes back to sleep. And here’s the part where I come to stage 5: Acceptance- because I think that just maybe, most sanctification happens in those tiny, ordinary moments, too. We can choose to show grace and love to one another, we can humbly serve each other and be served, even in (especially in?) Vomit-town.