This morning while I was in our downstairs office on the computer, Jane came running in saying she didn't feel good. A few minutes before she had been happily watching TV and seemed perfectly fine to me. I glanced over, distracted, "oh? what's wrong?"
"I feel like I'm going to throw up."
We rushed into the bathroom, she lifted the toilet seat, and proceeded to vomit several times. I sat there incredulously. She couldn't possibly be sick again. It wasn't the violent retching of last week, but puke all the same.
When she was done, she stood up, smiled a little and said, "I am all done now. I'm not sick anymore."
I stared at her. What the hell was going on in my house?
I feel like I need to call in those Hazmat guys in the suits to detox the place.
Now, although we haven't had the throw up virus in our home until recently, Jane has, on occasion, been sick to her stomach. Over the holidays, she threw up after our annual Hanukkah party. We suspected that she ate too many chocolate coins which prompted her to say, "I'm sick from the guilt," when she really meant "gelt," but it was so funny and appropriate that we didn't correct her.
It hit me that perhaps Jane is a Puker. You know the type. I had a friend in college who would get super drunk, feel sick, throw-up in the bushes outside a fraternity, wipe her mouth off with the bottom of her shirt, and grab a beer to wash down the taste.
My sister and her kids are also Pukers. My sister used to get car sick when we were kids. We'd pull over, she'd toss her cookies, and we'd get back on the road. My nephew was so good at it, that by age 3, he barely needed a grown-up to help him (girls always need someone to hold their hair back).
Even Matt is a Puker. Sometimes he gets sick from drinking or eating certain things. The next day, it is as if it never happened.
I am not a Puker. I am more like an anti-Puker. The exact opposite of a Puker. The last time I threw up was when Matt and I first started dating, 9 years ago. I had mild food poisoning from some deli chicken salad. I thought I might be dying. Matt, non phased, still wanted to kiss me (after I brushed my teeth, of course). I remember thinking, wow, he must really like me.
I am the type of person who can be nauseous for days (weeks, when pregnant) but cannot get myself to vomit. I am terrified of throwing up, actually. I can literally count on one hand how many times I've thrown up in my lifetime, and that includes two times when I was so drunk I don't even remember them.
Sure enough, Jane was completely fine all day long. Her usual silly, fun, self. I've been trying to figure out what her sudden throw up incident was all about. Was it what she ate for breakfast? Did she stick something in her mouth and gag? Matt told me to just get over it. Clearly it is my issue, not theirs.
A little while ago I called my mom to see what she was up to for the weekend and to check if she might be able to watch the kids at all.
"hello?" I heard on the other end of the line.
"Mom? Is that you? You sound terrible."
"I'm sick." The pathetic voice barely managed to get out.
"Oh, that's too bad, do you need anything?"
"No. I tried to eat something and I threw it up."
"Oh, okay, well, sorry again, get some rest." Oh, the guilt!
No more, I said! Now you are picking on Grammy? That is just wrong!
How the hell am I going to get away from all these sick people, if my babysitter is ill?