It’s strange, when you think about it. How many words we have for throwing up.
Puke sounds furtive, like a small dog running behind the couch to quietly cough up a slimy mass.
Vomit seems matter-of-fact — the efficient emptying of your stomach into a flesh-colored bowl shaped like a kidney, under the bright hospital lights.
Hurl is visceral. Where each heave comes with a yell… a bone-wrenching HUYAHGHHH… until you’re kneeling on the floor, your cheek resting on the cool toilet seat, hair stuck to your forehead, whimpering.
***
Frost dusts the grass and sidewalk with icy glitter. I place each foot carefully as I climb the stairs. The air is bitter and crisp and my breath makes giant white puffs that wisp out and away as I knock on my sister’s door.
She opens it, then races to the bathroom where I hear her heaving into the toilet. Hurling.
It’s good that I’ve come, I think. A wave of nausea washes over me.
I know it’s too soon for the germs to have made me sick. I know this, and yet I feel ill.
I take a sip of Diet Coke and pump hand sanitizer into my palms. My sister has gone to bed, and the house is silent except for the quiet snoring of the dog. My legs make a swishing sound as I slide into my sleeping bag and pull the zipper up to my chin.
I’ve just fallen asleep when my niece gives a yell. In an instance I’m on my feet. I fumble into her bedroom, kicking my foot into something hard and wooden on my way. I reach down into the crib and feel her small figure reaching up to me. Her pajamas are warm and nubby, and she curls her body into my arms. I’d forgotten what this feels like. She lays her head on my shoulder and I walk back and forth in the living room, bouncing gently. She coos and I feel warm and shivery all at the same time. Is there anything more intimate than a small child snuggled against you in the dark? In the whole world there is just the two of us and the darkness and the ticking of the clock.
The dog sighs. I carry my niece back to her bedroom, and gently lay her down.
Every cough and sigh, grunt and yelp — each one wakes me and I leap to my feet, heart racing, and tiptoe to the door where I listen intently. I walk to the side of the crib and hold my hand on the baby’s chest to make sure she’s still breathing.
I hear my sister heaving into the toilet. A dog barks outside. The baby coughs. I’m warm, and I kick off the sleeping bag. I’m cold, and I pull it tight around me.
Finally, morning comes. My eyes are bleary. The baby cries and as I lift her from the crib my 3-year old nephew murmurs, “I’m trying to sleep over here!” I sit in the chair and try to stay awake as the sun comes up and my niece crawls happily back and forth across the room.
***
I sit in my car waiting for the warm air to slowly clear my windshield. A grey cloud of exhaust billows up around me.
I think about my sister who is still inside the house, sick, with two small children who need her to change diapers and fix bottles. Her sink fills with dishes, her hampers with laundry.
Her baby smiles and giggles. Her little boy’s forehead is hot with fever.
What an amazing and horrible thing it is to be a parent.
December 14, 2011 at 7:59 am
But what you didn’t include is how you cleaned up my kitchen and did laundry and got up at least 6 times with the kids…
You’re my hero and we’re all feeling better this morning thanks to you!
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