Four to Seven Kids? No WAY!

Okay, can I please change the answers I provided for the quiz, "How Many Kids Should You Have?" on Facebook?

Some of the questions related to my handling of bodily fluids, my need for sleep, and my tolerance of outhouse smells. My answers to those questions determined that I should have four to seven kids. I've always wanted a handful but I am reevaluating.

Let me just start out by saying that I am a very olfactory person. I smell everything. Smells trigger memories, and they also trigger some strong physical reactions (did I mention that I have an overactive gag reflex?).

Yesterday when Big Boy woke up from his shorter-than-usual nap, he threw up his lunch on the carpet. Fresh watermelon, green beans, and pb&j. And five jelly beans, which we counted out after he ate his whole sandwich. So while I cleaned that up, and spot-shampooed the carpet, I called my husband to let him know Big Boy wasn't feeling well. "I'm having a hard time not gagging," I reported. "And what did you say about bodily fluids on that quiz?" he joked. I gave Big Boy some soda to settle his stomach and keep him hydrated.

Then we drove quickly to the post office to mail a letter that had to go out yesterday. Big Boy projectile-vomited his soda and a few sandwich remnants all over himself and his carseat. So I sprayed out the carseat with the hose and put the cover in the washer.

Then he wanted more soda and I was thinking that he might be able to just keep a little down. So I gave him that, and when we walked outside to meet my parents in the driveway (they were dropping off some Gatorade and saltine crackers for him), he threw up all over my arm and the garage floor. Totally gross.

I promise this is going somewhere.

So, I put Big Boy to bed by 7 p.m. He woke up once at midnight and threw up a tiny bit on the towel I'd put over his pillow. Then he woke up at 4:45 a.m. and wanted to be up. I got him back to bed by 5:30 a.m., and Little Boy woke up at 5:40 (he'd been in bed since 6 p.m. yesterday because he was so crabby it was all I could do with him!).

When Big Boy woke back up at 6:30, he was thirsty so I gave him a little Gatorade and a few saltine crackers. He was sitting on the stool at the bar, and he announced, "I'm poopy." Sure enough, it had leaked onto the stool cushion. So I changed his diaper. A few minutes later, he said, "I'm poopy again." So I changed his diaper again. The whole house stinks. It's too cold to run the ceiling fan so I lit a scented candle.

Now, it's only 8:30 a.m. and I feel tired and quite queasy. I want to revise my answers to the "How Many Kids Should You Have?" Quiz to reflect that I CANNOT tolerate the smell of an outhouse (I'm pretty sure that's how I answered anyway), I gag when changing the very poopy diaper on a sick boy (or when cleaning up warm throw up), and I want to sleep past 4:45 a.m.

But here's the best part: yesterday, after I cleaned up Big Boy's first throw up from the living room carpet, he asked me where his throw up was.

"I cleaned it up," I said.
He replied, "Oh, THANK you, Mommy. Thank you for cleaning up my throw up."