Last night was less than fun. Don’t get me wrong – it was pretty awesome having a big slice of chocolate rum cake and watching The Bachelor (while making fun of it and pretending I don’t watch The Bachelor). It was also fun reading Julie Andrew’s memoir Home which I am about 2/3 through now. But all that fun was overshadowed when my poor little boy woke up at 10:30pm and puked like everywhere. And then continued to do that every 15 minutes until 3am or so. And then again at 3:45 and one last time at 5am. The poor kid had no idea why he was throwing up, what it WAS and why he couldn’t just not do it and go to sleep. So every time I heard the beginnings of it (a sound now permanently ingrained in my memory) I had to lug him out of bed and run to the bathroom because his personal plan was to ignore it and hope it just went away. Which it did – all over his sheets, his little pull-out futon and the carpet numerous times.
First I tried sleeping on the floor in his bedroom next to him. I went and grabbed my pillow and a small blanket after the first two hours, deciding I would not be sleeping in my own room because he was not going to stop puking any time soon and if I wasn’t there he’d just puke all over himself in his bed. An hour after that I grabbed his futon thing (about 3 feet long maybe) and pretended it was a bed – figuring at least my back could have a mattress. This proved remarkably uncomfortable. After doing that for several hours, he decided he wasn’t really very tired anymore and that falling asleep wasn’t worth it because he always ended up waking up and puking and making himself upset again.
So we moved to the living room at about 2:30am and I let HIM sleep on the futon and I tried sleeping on the couch. We got up to puke twice, but he kept busy watching Shaun The Sheep on repeat and I managed to fall half asleep on the couch a couple of times. At 3:45 he fell asleep for an hour. And it was blissful and I thought we were done. But at 5am he woke up and puked instantly, no warning time to run to the bathroom. The futon was out of commission. And he was MAD. Like, “how dare I puke,” mad. He watched me clean up the mess then marched back to his bedroom and fell asleep in his own bed (with new clean sheets). I was a bit disappointed that I’d lost my couch and didn’t bother with the puke covered futon either. The floor it was. But after about 45 minutes of that I was like, “Dh has to be at work in like 2 1/2 hours and I haven’t ACTUALLY gone to sleep yet. This isn’t going to work. I decided he’d slept enough and told him it was time to switch. He wonderfully agreed and I passed out cold in my never so comfortable bed. And MM slept soundly until 8am like it had never happened at all.
So I went to sleep last night at about 6am after begging dh to get up with him for the last couple hours. We both woke up at 8am – me thinking, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” and MM announcing that he was essentially ALL BETTER and READY TO PLAY. Seriously. And he’s seriously all better. I’m glad because I think I’m too tired to deal with the pukes all day, too. But I’m also baffled. Like wtf yo. I know The Bachelor is like serious trash television but it’s nothing to puke over, am I right?
So for the first time since MM was like an infant, I staid up all night with him, reading him bed time stories over and over, trying to find ways to read them LONGER hoping he’d fall asleep; passing out with one eye open and both ears glued to the sound of his breathing in case it took a turn for the worst pukes. I guess I could consider last night a crash course refresher for when BB comes this summer and sleeping through the night as I know it ends for what will feel like eternity?