Men are from Mars?
Dillon had a stomach virus a couple of weeks ago.
Horrible. That is all I can say. He has only thrown up five times in his life, and four of those times have been on a Tuesday. So when he was especially cranky last Tuesday, I should have known.
Cause what do we do on Tuesdays??? THROW UP.
About once an hour, he would sit up, get really fussy, then offer up some remnant of a past meal. After about ten minutes, he would collapse in tears on the couch, lethargic until the next round hit him.
Poor baby. And poor me!
I was using old towels - I spread one on his lap, and made him sit on one. Of course, I had a growing pile of laundry. Daniel came in from work and said, "Amanda. Use a trash can!"
I had already endured four hours of this, and was loath to accept advice from a new arrival. However, I obediently got a trash can and held it patiently under Dillon's chin.
For about seven seconds. Then Dillon mustered all the energy he had left and shoved it away, croaking, "Nothankyoumama!"
So we were back to the towels. I had already run a load through the laundry, and so they were fresh in the dryer, ready to absorb more rejected breakfast.
I got Dillon ready for bed and laid him down. I rubbed his back, steeling myself for a long night. I tried to ready the room for frequent visits.
"Do you need anything?" Daniel asked. I told him to bring me towels to leave in a stack by Dillon's bed.
Out he walks, and returns a few minutes later. My husband. Trash-can-man. With a big pile of towels. Only they aren't towels. They are huge bath sheets that we never use. Fresh from the store. They wrap around my body two times.
He places them on the floor and I stare at him, disbelieving.
"Seriously? That is your solution? He's not throwing up THAT much! And how many times do you think I want to use the same towel? And why would I want to use the nice ones? It is PUKE!"
He tucked his tail and went into the living room. Exhaustion had caught up with me. The hilarity of his offering struck me, and I was laughing so hard that tears were pouring down my face. This is the difference between moms and dads.
Well, that and certain anatomical differences. But mostly the difference in logic.
Horrible. That is all I can say. He has only thrown up five times in his life, and four of those times have been on a Tuesday. So when he was especially cranky last Tuesday, I should have known.
Cause what do we do on Tuesdays??? THROW UP.
About once an hour, he would sit up, get really fussy, then offer up some remnant of a past meal. After about ten minutes, he would collapse in tears on the couch, lethargic until the next round hit him.
Poor baby. And poor me!
I was using old towels - I spread one on his lap, and made him sit on one. Of course, I had a growing pile of laundry. Daniel came in from work and said, "Amanda. Use a trash can!"
I had already endured four hours of this, and was loath to accept advice from a new arrival. However, I obediently got a trash can and held it patiently under Dillon's chin.
For about seven seconds. Then Dillon mustered all the energy he had left and shoved it away, croaking, "Nothankyoumama!"
So we were back to the towels. I had already run a load through the laundry, and so they were fresh in the dryer, ready to absorb more rejected breakfast.
I got Dillon ready for bed and laid him down. I rubbed his back, steeling myself for a long night. I tried to ready the room for frequent visits.
"Do you need anything?" Daniel asked. I told him to bring me towels to leave in a stack by Dillon's bed.
Out he walks, and returns a few minutes later. My husband. Trash-can-man. With a big pile of towels. Only they aren't towels. They are huge bath sheets that we never use. Fresh from the store. They wrap around my body two times.
He places them on the floor and I stare at him, disbelieving.
"Seriously? That is your solution? He's not throwing up THAT much! And how many times do you think I want to use the same towel? And why would I want to use the nice ones? It is PUKE!"
He tucked his tail and went into the living room. Exhaustion had caught up with me. The hilarity of his offering struck me, and I was laughing so hard that tears were pouring down my face. This is the difference between moms and dads.
Well, that and certain anatomical differences. But mostly the difference in logic.
posted by Amanda
at
7:24 AM
5 Comments:
Yup. Men lack logic. At least your husband was trying to help though, most men would just sit down in the living room and leave the PUKE mess up to the mom.
So remember to give the guy a little credit, oh and buy yourself something nice :)
Jillian
YUCK. There's nothing worse than dealing with that! Puke + kid = one horrible 24 hours for mom.
Oh I hope Dillon feels better already.
And I couldn't agree more, we are from different planets. Never fails to happen.
Man logic is definitely different but Daddy logic can be mind-boggling.
I stumbled in here earlier today by googling something but now I can't remember what it was. But I got to poking around and reading. This post is hilarious!
I have been a single mom for almost 9 years. Puke has been my biggest fear. I hate it, hate the sound, the smell and HATE cleaning it up. I had the kid trained a long time ago to puke in a wastebasket or a bag.
I'd be bleaching my towels until there was nothing left but mere threads.
I'm a bit of a germophobe that way.
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