1 Mother 2 Another

Remember how Madeleine was throwing up this past weekend?

Tuesday she was a bit clingy, a bit needy, with a very low fever. I thought it was teething, gave her Motrin at bedtime, and dismissed it. Wednesday morning she refused breakfast, which I again dismissed as no big deal because I’d gotten her up a bit early for a well-baby doctor’s visit.

Yeah, you can see this coming, can’t you.

Driving in the car, almost to the bridge, I hear something and think, “Gee, that noise sounds familiar. Where have I heard that before?” I check the rear view mirror in time to see my daughter hurl all over herself.

Fortunately, we were on our way to see the doctor anyway.

Fortunately, we were not yet on the bridge, and I could pull over, put on my hazards, and clean her up from the box of wipes I keep in the car.

Unfortunately, there was more to come, this time as we started driving through Central Park.

So my daughter, tears streaming down her face, sat in her own puke for a while until I got to the doctor’s office and could get back to her again.

Turns out there’s some sort of stomach virus going around and the doctor’s certain it’s what Maddie’s got.

How can that be? I ask. It’s been three days since she last threw up!

Guess what? A stomach virus shows up in one of two ways. Option one, you’ve got a spectacular couple of days with near-constant vomiting and diarrhea.

Option two, you’ve got the occasional vomiting incident – every day or two – for about TWO WEEKS.

Looks like we’ve got option two, which means we have no way of knowing if the virus is gone until she’s been puke-free for a week or so. Which means that big outings will probably be on hold indefinitely, lest we have a big accident in the middle of, say, Bloomingdales.

“The good news,” the doctor told us cheerfully, “is that it’s relatively mild, and the diarrhea is usually a sign the virus is on its way out.”

“But she doesn’t have diarrhea,” I said.

“Just wait.”

Great.

So if you’re out and about and see a woman with a haunted look on her face, carrying a toddler with ratty towels draped everywhere, two Silkys peeping out of diaper bag, it’s just me.

Best give us a wide berth.