Saturday of Doom

Do you ever have those days when you wake up and it seems like it’s going to be just a really great day. You have your to-do list all organized and plenty of time to get everything done. You have activities planned out for you tot and even squeeze in 30 minutes or so in the morning to sit and drink your coffee and read a silly book and just decompress. And then, when you least expect it: all hell breaks loose?

That was Saturday at our house.

It dawned fine, the boy even slept in on a weekend – and he’s got this uncanny ability to wake up before dawn on weekends and then force us to drag him out of bed at 6:30 on weekdays. We had some breakfast, did some playing in the yard. The usual. No big.

Masa went surfing with our neighbor during Gus’ naptime and I did the Easter baking and boiled the eggs. Then Masa called from the beach. Sounding out of it, he tells me he got a bit of a cut from his surfboard fin and will I look up the closest ER that he’s insured for.

Oh good grief. This isn’t what I’d been planning at all.

But it couldn’t be helped so off he went to the ER and comes home looking like a cross between Sloth from the Goonies and Frankenstein. It’s a nasty gash and requires two stitches inside and six on the outside.

So he gets home, and we all eat dinner and all is well. Only now Gus is complaining of a stomach ache. Which is funny because he’s never really complained of any particular thing hurting with the exception of immediate trauma (bumped head, skinned knee etc).

He did want to eat. We didn’t press the issue.

Just as we were getting him all set for bedtime I noticed the signs. The more insistent whining about the belly. The compulsive swallowing. The subtle gagging. And I calmly (I was proud of myself) got up and took him into the bathroom… aaaand not a moment too soon.

Quick question for you: Have you ever tried to aim a puking toddler into any particular direction (let alone vessel)? If you have had success at this please post your secret. I have not. Vomit was showered all over our bathroom, kitchen, and eventually the hall before the night was done. Luckily not all over his bedroom and I’m proud of my skeelz in avoiding that lovely predicament.

I went through three changes of clothes and two showers, and after we ran out of clean pajamas for him, we left him in his diaper and the poor thing was too worn out to care. (before that he insisted on Clean! Pants! Between upchucks.)

So the day that started with such calm and efficient promise ended with a trip to the ER, stitches, an a house bathed in puke. Just goes to show that you never can tell. BTW: Masa’s still pretty puffed up pretty bad, but Gus’ stomach bug, whatever it was, passed in just a few hours.

And I actually managed not to lose my mind until Sunday night – at which point, for the first time in my life, I caught myself looking *forward* to Monday and a whole complete hour between noon and one when I get to do whatever I want. All. By. Myself.

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