Paige has always had a weak stomach. When she was an infant, she projectile vomited on me every day for the first four months of her life. We tried every kind of formula available, (breast feeding, unfortunately, was not an option) and it simply didn’t matter. At least half of what I put in her would instantly come back up into my hair, onto my shirt, wherever she could best aim it.
This only subsided once we introduced solids. Thank God, those did not come back up.
But even after the introduction of solids, Paige had a noticeably weak stomach. I avoided upsetting her too much, because if she got herself too worked up, she would vomit everywhere. It’s just her weak stomach.
When Allie was born, I had to be careful to change dirty diapers out of her view, or she’d start dry heaving. Bless her soul when she becomes a mother. I hope her husband is patient.
This morning, as is usual, I sent her into the bathroom to get ready for school. “Brush your hair and teeth,” I yelled to her.
And naturally, because Paige is doing something Allie must do it too.
Paige came in a minute later, “Mom, Allie wants to brush her teeth too, but I can’t get any more of her toothpaste out of the tube for her.”
“Just give her the brush for now,” I said, making a mental note to run to the store later. I figured brushing without toothpaste was better than not brushing at all.
A few minutes later, Paige was back in the living room. “Mom, Allie just dipped her toothbrush in-” she started dry heaving. Her shoulders hunched, she spasmed forward. “Oh God! Just don’t tell me! If it’s going to make you throw up, just don’t say it!”
She nodded her head and vacated the room, quickly. She composed herself in the kitchen and came back in a minute later. “Alright, I’m better. I’m just going to say it fast so it doesn’t make me throw up. Alliedippedhertoothbrushinabowlofdogslobber!”
“Oh gross!” I wailed.
“I know, Mom. It’s totally disgusting. Did I do the right thing by telling you, Mom?” Paige is constantly getting in trouble for tattling. Like, updating us on Allie’s every move, tattling.
“Dear God, yes,” I replied. How does she not see the difference between that and, “Mom, Allie hugged me!”
I marched in the bathroom and threw out Allie’s toothbrush in front of her. She was devastated. I’ll bring this up in thirteen years or so, and she can properly thank me then.