Thank you for my sphincter.

Last night I was curled up in the fetus position beside a wrapped up tight sleeping baby - swaddled by Daddy I might add - and I couldn't help but be grateful for the man in my life.

The man in question was sitting behind us on the dog bed planning his lessons on my lap top. He was making sure he'd be prepared to stay home today and take a load off Momma while I recuperate - or continue to be sick. Whatever.

I was getting nasty tummy cramping and gas bubbling and intestinal gurgling every five minutes or so. Exhausted doesn't begin to describe it. The few times I nearly dropped off the edge of the world I'd come hurtling back instantaneously with a burn warning that had me leaping over Little Miss D and into our adjoining bathroom faster than you can say Holy Crap Batman!

Me sick!

"Me sick. [L-boy]. got. a. tum-me. ache."

(He doesn't call himself L-boy, but he does refer to himself in the third person and in the interest of completely pointless anonymity - seeing as though I'm linked with FB and I've slipped up a million times already - I'm keeping his awesome name a secret.)

When I hear something like this ('Me sick!') come out of one of my kids' mouths I listen. I've learned this the hard way (see Happy Barrf Day!)

So sweet it's sickening!

It was 6:00 in the morning when I finally succumbed to the inevitable, after a restless few hours drifting in and out of sleep. 

I'd hoped I'd get through the nausea without chundering. I knew it would make me feel better (at least in the short term) to expel all the nasty stuff out of my tummy, but it's sort of like that first pee of the night when you're out on the lash. Once you've broken the seal you're back in the lav every five minutes or so after that.

The urge to spew my guts up into the bucket stationed beside the couch had been successfully suppressed for three hellacious hours, but now my time was up.

Happy Barrf Day!

So, I pulled this little story out of Momma's prenatal backblog.

I had it sitting pretty in my blog queue ready for 'go' when our little lady decided to join the party!

This isn't one of my proudest parenting moments - in fact, it's probably my cringiest 'please-let-the-ground-open-up-and-swallow-me-whole' Mommy moment to date!

Just a simple case of karma biting Momma in the butt - and really, this Momma should have known better..!

But Mommies mess up sometimes too, you know?

We can't always get it right. And, in my pitiful defense, it was more a bad case of denial (and hoping for the best) than unscrupulous intent that led me to let loose our feverish 'sick' kid at a wee buddy's Pirate Birthday Parrty last month, carelessly exposing the other pint-sized pirates to God knows whatever!

It's amazing how wishful thinking has the power to blindside us Mommas from doing the right thing by our kiddoes - and incidentally by other Mommas and their own precious offspring! 

All excuses aside, this wayward Momma definitely got her just desserts following a naughty bout of sick kid cover-up!

Our Saturdays have been jam-packed this summer, what with dance class first thing followed by swimming and lunch at the pool. By the time the morning's activities are wrapped up, both our little ones have been passing out cold for a good two (sometimes three) hour stretch - scuppering any hopes of a seven o'clock bedtime! 

You'd think that would be enough excitement for one day; Mommy and Daddy get to sneak in a lovely afternoon 'snuggle' then a magical bit of down time (remember this was pre-bambina - these 'snuggles' are a thing of the past) before it's already time for tea, doggy walks, bath, books and bed (hopefully before 10:00pm!). 

Who's crazy idea was it then - this particular Saturday - to haul ass across town and squeeze in the back end of a birthday party? Mommy's, of course. Daddy would have been happier hanging in his hammock - and the boys would have been none the wiser.  

I'm always guilty of cramming too much fun into a single day - I just don't like to say 'no' to anything, especially birthday parties. This social butterfly whore (as one Mommy friend fondly dubbed me) hates to miss out! 

Having too many options on the table is a good problem to have, but rather than attempting to 'do it all' I need to learn how to pick and choose. It's just not necessary (or even healthy) to have back to back activities for the kiddoes - necessary for Momma's sanity maybe! 

In all fairness to Momma, there was nothing to say we couldn't 'do it all'. On a different day, everything might have worked out swimmingly and the pirate party would have been the icing on the cake of a fun-packed summer's day..... 

Just not this day.

The kids ended up napping for almost three hours, and so by the time they were stirring in their beds the pirate theme party was already in full swing. 

Not wanting to rock up unfashionably late, we barely had time for potty breaks (big guy) and diaper change (little guy) before strapping both nippers in the minivan with a prepped sarny in one hand, sippy cup in the other.    

Our almost 3 year old had felt a tad bit on the warm side when I'd taken him out of his nest, but having been snuggled up for three hours in a duvet burrito after getting full body sun-kissed during his all morning swim, I chose to think nothing more of it. 

During the drive he announced to everybody, "Me sick!" He was fussy, and grumpy, and in protest to his sandwich or waking up or some other grievance (possibly the fact he was feeling sick to his tummy had a lot to do with it) he launched his much-needed post-nap snack at the back of Mommy's head-rest.   

Like his Daddy, our big kid is not a great waker-upper - often taking himself back to bed a handful of times before he's finally willing to join the land of the living. I've discovered, the hard way, that he's best left to his own devices when he's slumber sulking. 

"Probably just a headache," I dismissively diagnosed assuredly to Daddy, who gratefully concurred. We mainly put his sourpuss pouting down to post nap blues, telling ourselves that he was also likely affected by a bit too much sun and swim. 

He'd slept particularly hard after all that water play, so waking up was even more difficult than usual. To make matters worse, he'd barely touched his lunch before passing out, and he hadn't had a drop of water since the pool. 

I watched him through the mirror, quietly confident that with a few sips on his water cup and a few nibbles on his sarny he'd be right as rain. Silly misguided Momma!

By the time we pulled up at the party house and all piled out of the van, our eldest was still out of sorts. He clung to me like a little monkey and whimpered, "Me sick Momma!"

I dug around in the diaper bag pocket for a thermometer - just to check - and, of course, he was running a low-grade fever.

I looked at Daddy and we mused that it wasn't impossible he was just overheated after his sun exposure that morning. 

"Some party food and a cup cake will cheer him up!" What was I thinking? We should have turned around then and gone home - but we didn't. 

Shoulda woulda coulda.... hindsight is twenty twenty!

Instead, we dosed him up with some Tylenol - for his headache, right - and carried him into the celebrations. 

Who were we kidding? No one but ourselves it turned out. And, our little lad was not going to go along with our dastardly cover-up. 

"Me sick!" he embarrassingly announced to anyone and everyone that would listen, as I carried him around in my arms.

"Shhhh! You're just hot baby!" We kept correcting him, each time he let the cat out of the bag. Part of me still believed he'd nibble on some party food and pick right up, but when he refused the 'Pirate Booty' cheese puffs I knew we were in trouble.

Our hostess with the mostess had put such effort into everything, and I wanted so badly for our kids to repeat the fabulous party experience they'd had the last time we were over there. Infecting her kiddies was probably not the best way to say 'thank you' though.

Big kid ramped up his relentless rendition of "Me sick!" so guiltily I snook him outside with a popscicle in hand considering it might be time to bail.

That's when the inevitable happened. Our sick kid gave a few warning gags over my shoulder..

Uh oh.. don't do it.. don't do .... 

But it was too late. He'd already puked up his 'empty' little guts all down Momma's back and onto the ground behind me. At least we were outside - thank God for small mercies!

Mortified by what had just happened, my panic-stricken eyes roved around the party goers confirming who'd witnessed the embarrassing event....

Yep - pretty much everyone.

I couldn't hightail it outta there fast enough! One sympathetic family member of the birthday pirate insisted on helping carry our bags - much to my dismay - as I scurried my barfing boy away from all the concerned faces and out to the minivan, tail between my legs. 

I really didn't want any help; I didn't want anyone hanging around to see more of my child's chundering and my subsequent shame.

Please leave me to my humiliation! 

I stumbled across this little gem on my search
for an 'appropriate' visual aid: Puke the Pirate

I was appalled with myself that I hadn't listened to my boy - or taken any stock in what he'd been trying to tell me over and over - and considering our littlest had run a hellaciously high fever the weekend before, we really should have been more responsible.

The awful truth was: Momma had been looking forward to the party herself - and not just on the kids' behalf. Selfish Mommy had wanted to go play with her friends too!

On the drive home, Daddy and I squirmed and cringed and laughed until we cried at the whole pirate party puke fiasco! 

Once we were home, our sick kid laid up on the couch watching TV and snuggling in his duvet - pretty standard perks of being poorly in our house - but by bedtime he was more or less back to his chillaxed and happy self. 

"Me not sick anymore!"

Well OK little man - I definitely believe you.

Admittedly, I slept with one eye open that night for fear my kid had spent too much time underwater. What if his puking had been a precursor symptom of that rare and terrifying tragedy, dry drowning?

The next day he was right as rain.

A few days post pirate parrrty pandemonium though, and our kid was back to feeling feverish. Until then, we'd still been thinking too much sun and not enough fluids had been the culprit to his throwing up at the party. 

"Me ear hurt!" he announced pointing at his ear, while munching on his mac 'n' cheese. The little lad didn't have to tell me twice..... at least this time. I quickly abandoned our play date at the park plans and started garlic oil treatment pronto.  

With all the viruses being bandied around it's possible his little system had been fighting some blasted bug or other at the party - which was subsequently manifesting itself in an ear infection. Either that or our little underwater fish was just suffering from another bout of swimmers' ear!

Either way, Momma should have listened, and Momma should not have taken him to a party!

I consider with much chagrin how insistent we've been in the past about steering clear of other kids with bugs. It was considered the height of bad manners - especially by Daddy - when some 'ceder' fevering friend or family member showed up sneezing and coughing over the babies - particularly the newborns!

No one ever had the gall to rock up and let their sick kid vomit all over the place!

Boy do I feel sheepish. Bloated whale status aside - I'm lucky no one made me walk the plank!