Last night was a nightmare. Around 8:00, without any warning, Jameson tossed his cookies. (Or in this case, his chicken and carrots.) He showed no sign of illness beyond that, so I was holding out hope that it was some strange (though improbable) case of overeating or dinner not agreeing with him, or whatever. Anything but a stomach bug.
Well, it was of course a stomach bug and the majority of my night was spent alternating between changing sheets, pajamas and trash bags and holding my poor three year old over sinks, trash cans and toilets. As you parents know, watching one of your children suffer may be the single worst feeling in the world. That feeling is then cemented when afterwards they turn around and console you with comments like "I'm alright" and "Don't worry, I feel better now." He was a trooper in every way last night.
On a side note, let me tell you non-parents out there about one of the most profound changes you go through when you become a parent: you make a serious reevaluation of what you truly consider "gross." It starts with the first dirty diapers (Google "meconium") and continues to the point where cupping your hands to catch someone else's vomit is as impetuous as saying "gesundheit" when someone sneezes.
The good news was I was already planning on taking the day off today (albeit, I had a much more productive day planned). The better news is Jameson is acting like his old self now. I of course am waiting for the other shoe to drop. These kiddie stomach bugs are known for hitting the stomach club and then making their way to the after-party, if you know what I mean. That's when the real fun begins.