Leah and her sister are the two most profoundly emetophobic people I know. Rachel also hates spiders. But I digress.
My mom, who picks Ava up at school weekdays, e-mailed yesterday afternoon to let us know Ava had just vomited, repeatedly, all over her living room. This must’ve been around 3 or so. When I got home shortly after 5, our poor little girl was lying quietly in her bed, feverish, with our big orange popcorn bowl sitting next to her. About 90 seconds after I asked her how she was doing, she experienced another round of sickness. The poor thing isn’t used to this at all; at one point she told her mom she was dying. After a short nap and then another bout of vomiting, Ava settled in for a longer rest as her fever began to climb. When she woke after about an hour and a half, she appeared to be much better. We gave her small sips of Pedialyte and Gatorade, and by 8:30, Ava was sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, laughing along to “Cars.”
The kicker in all this is that I had mentioned to Leah only the day before that I couldn’t remember Ava ever having the stomach flu, let alone throwing up (this in reaction to news that stomach flu was going around somewhere). It’s a good reminder that I should just keep my cotton pickin’ yap shut.
As I type, Ava is home with her mom, seemingly fully recovered. Leah, I suspect, is quietly fretting about catching whatever Ava had, but I think we’re pretty safe. Argh! There I go again! If Leah pukes tonight, I’m buying a lottery ticket.