The Puking Zombie

Friday after school, our told us that he had a headache. Pause for backstory: for those that don't know, our son doesn't have an immune system and many, MANY days are spent in the hospital with him. Most of the other days I spend panicking that he's going to get sick. It's torture.

So when he said he had a headache, my chest started to hurt. I KNEW that he was sick. But my husband insisted I was overreacting, letting my emotions take over and that he was fine, just tired from a long week at school.

Sadly, I was the one who was right. I didn't make my husband sing the "You were right, I was wrong dance" this time though. It just didn't seem right.

He seemed better by bedtime. Saturday he seemed fine. Then he started getting withery. He "just didn't feel good." Off he went to bed, only to rise a few minutes later to vomit.

My husband just looked at me and shook his head in awe. "I can't believe your powers," he said.

Never doubt a mother's instinct.

After the first round of vomiting, he was back to bed. About an hour later, we headed to bed thinking maybe it was just his reflux. Just as we headed to our room, we heard footsteps. ENTER THE PUKING ZOMBIE.

Our son proceeded to grab a barstool in the kitchen, lean over it like it was a toilet and vomit - all over the kitchen, the island, the barstool, the stove...you get the idea. It ran down the aisles of grout under things as I scurried to get papertowels and clorox (with gloves and a mask on - I'm not stupid). Hubby took puking zombie boy to the bathroom for a shower.

After all was clean - kitchen and son - I said "Honey, I'm sorry that you're sick. But you have a trash can in your room and a bathroom three steps from your room. Please pick one of those to throw up in, not the kitchen." And all I got was a blank stare.

I slept on the chair - upside down apparently - all night as he snoozed on the couch. This morning he asked why I was so tired and grouchy. "I had to clean up puke for an hour and slept in a chair" I said.

"Why did you have to clean up puke?" he asked. COMPLETELY STOIC. He had NO CLUE.

"Because you threw up all over the kitchen!" I said.

"No I didn't. I threw up in the bathroom."

"Not every time; there was one time in the kitchen," I insisted.

He thinks I am the one dreaming. He really has no recollection of being a puking zombie.

Guess I'll add it to his baby book so I can blackmail him with his future bride someday.