When Scotty was throwing up, this was my reaction:
"OMG! It's okay, sweetie! In the bucket, in the bucket...okay, that's fine, I'll clean it up. No sweetie, not on the carpet - in the bucket! Ah yuck, okay, it's fine, Mommy's washable. Oh pumpkin, you're going to be okay. I know, throwing up is awful. You're fine, Momma loves you."
My reaction when Brian emerged from our bathroom this morning, sporting a glassy, green sheen on his face:
"Seriously? Just go to work. Get out of here. You're going to get the baby sick again. No, don't touch me! Get away!"
My response the night after we were at the ER with Scotty:
::cranking up monitor so it's as loud as possible::
::lots of crinkly static:: then...Cough! I bolt up in bed. OMG Scotty just threw up! Must run and check on him. Oh please oh please let him be okay.
The Bear is totally fine. ::more crinkly static, which goes on all night::
My response to Brian when he got up last night at 2am, saying he felt like he was going to throw up:
"You feel like what? Throwing up? Oh gross. Sleep downstairs, okay? I don't want to be up all night."
He slumped out of the bedroom, shoulders sagging, totally defeated. Poor guy.
I know, I know. It's not fair. But Scotty is so darn cute, even when he's puking his little guts out. Brian...Brian just makes me angry when he gets sick. He made it to work this morning, won his hearing, and promptly drove back home to go to bed. He is now sleeping upstairs as I type this. And let me remind everyone, if I was the one who was sick (which is a definite possibility, with the way this week is shaping up), I would still be caring for the Bear while Brian was at the office. It doesn't matter if my head is hanging in a toilet; moms don't get sick days.