Wednesday, August 06, 2008

Hurl-y to Bed, Hurl-y to Rise...

So, I go to pick up the spawnage at camp today, and when I get there, Miss O's counselor, who's like 12 1/2, comes up to me and says, in a very serious tone, "Uh, so after lunch today, when the kids were practicing their skit, well, Miss O sort of... got sick."

I didn't know what the fuck he meant, at first... "got sick"? Then I said, "Wait... she puked?" He nodded his head. Dude, just say she fucking puked.

And wait... why did she puke?!

I looked around, and Miss O was happily frolicking around with her friends, with nary a sign of her chunks having been ralph-ed. I thanked the lad, and then tracked the ragamuff down. Now, trying to get information out of Miss O is like trying to get the weird fungus that's been on my left big toe for the last five years to go away -- you can poke and prod and apply various salves and unguents, but Miss O ain't gonna fucking talk. Neither will the fungus.

What I could glean from her harrumphs, whines and non-answers was that:

1. Her stomach didn't hurt.

B. She was fine after the chucking was upped.

iii. It was less of a puke and more of an exuberant "mini-vom."

Now, the old crabbydad would worry his skinny little ass off, trying to figure out just what pernicious plague had befallen the girl. But for some reason, the new old crabbydad isn't really all that fucking concerned. I mean, I've seen her mini-vom before and lemme tell you, she's a fucking blo-fessional. Sometimes it happens when she's bending over the arm of the couch reading a book, sometimes it happens when she tries to force out a belch at the dinner table (like the true crabbykid that she is), and sometimes it happens because... well, just because.

I think, eensie-bit by weensie-bit, I'm learning to not ramp up into fucking panic mode every time someone gets a runny nose. Or a runny esophagus. Granted, I'm not throwing the Xanax away just yet -- I still have to stand over the spawnage every night until they move before I can allow myself to go to sleep, but hey... baby steps, right?

So what does this all mean? I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure it means that Miss O's fucking going to camp tomorrow.


Crescent said...

I used to mini-vom a lot as a kid too. I would just blow some lunch across the room then be fine. There's something oddly delicate and, at the same time, totally resilient about little kids stomachs.

Carolyn (Sea Mystery) said...

Having a very weak stomach myself I'm ok reading about voms. That being said, seeing or actually smelling said vom will bring it on me every freaking time. You know, monkey see, monkey do.

My sister gave her dog milk on a hot day, and I was just ready to sit down to a nice sausage pizza. After viewing the dog growlfing the milk, combined with kibble (which looked like the pizza topping), I ran from the room and didn't come back for said pizza.

Don't worry, probably something she ate ... or milk on a hot day. *shudder*

Tiffany said...

I remember when my son was an infant and I jumped at the first sign of a cold or any other ailment-related function.

Heck, his first night home we bought one of those baby monitors that's supposed to alert you if your kid stops breathing in the middle of the night.

Sure as shit the thing went off. I shot out of bed and went to check on him. He had apparently rolled off the sensor.

About 2 weeks ago he slammed his finger in his Nana's car door. When I picked him up the nail was turning blue. But I managed to keep my cool until three days later his thumb was the size of russet potato. And the nail was black.

Of course, the whole time he kept telling me, "I'm fine, mom. It only hurts when you put pressure on it. The nail's gonna fall off. Which is really cool!"

So yeah, the paranoia is still there...only now he's old enough to make sure I keep it under control.