C puked huge amounts in the parking lot at Irene Dairy yesterday. Poor kid. When she came home she looked paler than a red head with see through skin, if you can believe that.
I hosed her down in the shower (there's nothing worse than that sour puke smell especially when they've had milk), made her some really sweet rooibos tea and sat with her for a bit. Then Himself, J and I had lunch. She wasn't up to it, her tummy was sore and she didn't look too pink in the face either. We spent the afternoon laying in bed with me alternating between rubbing her belly softly and reading Matilda to her (with me wishing I could get back to my Sookie Stackhouse books), with her moaning in pain and puking. At 6pm she fell asleep finally. By 6 30pm she was awake again moaning and rolling around.
When the kids are sick, Himself usually lets the healthy one sleep in our bed with him while I sleep in the other bed with the sicko. I should know better. I have not had much sleep. C has this ability unique to children when they sleep. They know exactly which part of the adult human body is most vulnerable to a hand or a leg coming out of nowhere and landing with force.
Of course, she was up at 5 and ready to go to school. I feel like I've been out partying all night and swallowed a bottle of E.