A Word on Vomit

I don’t want to elaborate on the graphics of the horrible night I spent with my very sick boys the other night, but I made a few important observations. I’ve had a number of horrible nights in my life but there was something newly horrible about this night. It wasn’t me in pain but it was worse because I couldn’t do anything but hug them while they puked and cried. They didn’t understand what was happening or why.

I would have much rather puked so they didn’t have to. My suspicion is that this is just a part of being a parent—hurting for them when something is completely beyond my control. Though it was awful and seemed unending, there was something heartwarming about it that I want to share.

After Cal had gotten sick several times, Clark started. Clark was sitting on my right leg and Cal on my left. I was catching Clark’s vomit in a bucket while Brian cleaned the carpet from the previous explosion. (Sidenote: We all call Clark “Shark” sometimes) Calvin leaned over toward Clark, put his hand on his shoulder and started crying, “Sharky, Sharky!” then looking at me and saying “Mommy, Sharky.”

He was more upset about Clark throwing up than he had been when he was throwing up himself. On and on all night they both showed so much concern when the other one threw up, making sure that I saw the other one’s distress, and even though we were in such disgusting circumstances, I was proud of the love they showed for each other. What a cool thing, to have a twin.