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Andrew, our second oldest, at age three,
when he wore overalls and slept in his racecar bed
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Let
me tell you, this was a dark and stormy night, of another kind.
Sitting
across from my three-year-old son at the dinner table, I tilted my head, like
our Yorkie when she is trying to understand what we’re saying. “Does Andrew
look a little green?” I asked my husband.
He
glanced up from his pasta. “He looks fine. If he was sick, he wouldn’t have
eaten his dinner.”
The
plate still had a mound of squiggly noodles, his favorite. He ate about half.
His
five-year-old brother, Stephen, continued his car noises in between mouthfuls.
He looked fine. Sounded fine.
“Andrew,
do you feel ok?”
“My
tummy hurts.” He scrunched his little nose and pushed the plate away as if it
were his enemy or a serving of his most hated vegetable, broccoli.
Pale
skin with a green hue isn’t cute, especially on a three-year-old. By now I knew
what was coming. You know what’s coming. Ooh, the dread…wondering if there is
any way to prevent the inevitable.
“Let’s
get you ready for bed.” No argument, or begging to read “One Fish, Two Fish,
Red Fish, Blue Fish” for the billionth time. This was not good.
“Do
you think you might throw up now?”
“No.”
His eyes looked glossy, filling up with tears. And filling my eyes with tears too.
“Okay.
You’ll be fine. Just need to sleep and you’ll wake up and feel like Superman.”
Was I lying to my little boy? I slid his blond bangs to the side and kissed his
forehead.
I
turned off the lights and went to bed, not to sleep much, only listen. Counting
cricket chirps eventually forced my eyes closed until three in the morning.
Then the song of groans began with an exploding "Gaahh!" intermingled with
coughing and a splashing sound. Was I dreaming?
“Please,
let this not be as bad as it sounds.”
It
was worse.
Backtrack
to when Stephen was two and we got him the cool Little Tikes car shaped bed. He
loved it, and Andrew loved getting it when his brother moved up to a regular
bed. But this day, I regretted that purchase.
I
ran to Andrew’s room when I realized this was not a dream. Too late. He was hunched
over, gagging in between exploding vomit everywhere. Ev-er-y-where! Stepping
over the peach-colored pond, I scooped him up to bring to the bathroom for a
wash down. The worst part is that he couldn’t go back to bed until I cleaned
the mess. Not something to put off until tomorrow.
Aside
from the pond, which was hard enough to mop, chunks of thrown-up noodles and
glop filled every crevice of the adorable car bed. And I couldn’t complain that
this is the worst thing moms have to do while Andrew was crying in the
bathroom.
It
took about an hour to get it scrubbed and ready with fresh sheets. Finally,
we were all back to sleep at five in the morning…until I heard the groaning
song coming from Stephen’s room.
It
was a long night, but the storm of sickness ended in twenty-four hours.
I’m
thankful God doesn’t give us more than we can handle each day. He didn’t tell
me: “This is nothing—just wait until a hurricane destroys your home and you are
staying in a small space of two rooms and have five sick kids throwing up in
their pastel colored Easter bowls.”
Some
things I’d rather not know ahead of time. Thank you, Lord.
P.S.
God
doesn’t say the words “won’t give us more than we can handle,” but He does offer
us the help we need to get through any situation—even sick days. One of my favorite
Bible verses is found in the book of Matthew.
“Come
to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my
yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you
will find rest for your souls.” Matthew 11:28-30
God
will give us the rest we need. I find comfort in those words. Aah…rest.
*******
This story received first place in the Faithwriter's Weekly Contest for the topic "sick."
You can visit Francy at her author website: Francesjudge.com
Or check out her book on Amazon: Randi's Steps
