A Long Late Night

I'm sitting on the floor in my living room as I write this at 1:40 am, with my two-year-old son sitting on my lap. We're watching "The Wubbulous World of Dr. Seuss" on video. My pregnant wife is lying in bed. What's so significant about all of this? I mean, aside from the fact that my two-year-old son is awake still at almost two o'clock in the morning.

We came home from a family Christmas party at 11:30. My wife had complained of cramps the entire trip home, and rushed ahead of me into the house. When I walked into the kitchen, she was vomiting into the sink. I quickly put my son to sleep, then offered to help. While my wife went to lie down in bed, I cleaned up the mess, just barely avoiding vomiting myself, as you can probably imagine.

As I prepared to turn in myself, my son started crying. Much to my surprise and displeasure when I went into his room to check on him, his bed and everything it -- including him -- was covered in his vomit.

At this point, I nearly lost control. I rushed into the bathroom and started water running into my son's tub. I yelled to my wife what was happening as I retrieved my son -- again barely holding down my own vomit. I stripped my son of his filthy clothes and asked my wife to sit by the tub with him while I remade his bed and started a load of laundry.

Since then, my son has thrown up three more times, plus a few dry heaves, and my wife has gone to bed complaining that she's feeling worse. My son is so sleepy he can barely hold his head up, but he won't go to sleep after waking up vomiting -- which is fine with me, because I wouldn't get a moment of sleep worrying about two sickies in the house.

Under normal conditions, I'd be waking up in 2-1/2 hours to get ready for work. Luckily, my Assistant Manager answered when I called at 12:30 and is able to go in for me.

I guess I'll be spending the next day caring for these two and cleaning up after them. Hopefully I'll get a little rest myself when it's all over.

Joe