Christmas Vomit…

I met Jessica last year at the Newcomers Reception at Blissdom Canada. I quickly corrupted her and taught her how to steal items from the lovely people from Philosophy. Jessica is super kind and very funny and probably one of the cutest people on the planet. She has the worst Christmas last year and she wrote about it for me. She writes at Just a Mum
When most people think about the holiday season, they think of the gifts, and the lights, and the food…

I tend to think about vomit.

While I do love the lights, and the music, and all that other stuff, it’s the vomit years that are indelibly marked in my mind. Since having kids, we have not had a single Christmas where there wasn’t at least one person suffering from some sort of intestinal upheaval. This year was no exception; Beege and I were struck down the week before school holidays.

The most memorable one though, would have to be the year Kee was one. The husband was performing in a show over the holidays, and I was left largely alone with Beege (who was 3 at the time), and baby Kee.

‘Twas the week before Christmas, and I was alone,
For Husband had taken a job in a show.
He was out of the house for 6 nights a week,
While still working full time – really quite a feat.

We all were exhausted, but I most of all,
Since I’d contracted some evil head cold as well.
“It’s Strep!” The helpful doctor exclaimed,
And sent me off for pills with an unpronounceable name.


I took my pills, like a good little girl,
And soon after, my head started to whirl.
Not feeling quite right, I took to my bed,
With visions of unwrapped presents dancing in my head.


I awoke in the morning, and still felt strange.
Was a day in bed something that I could arrange?
I looked in the mirror, as I scratched at an itch,
I was covered in spots. “Son-of-a… !”


I stopped taking the pills, as Tele-health had advised,
Took some Benedryl, and waited for the reaction to subside.
My family took the kids to a Christmas party far away,
And I passed out on the couch, not moving all day.


When they came home, I awoke from my rest,
My mum took one look and became quite distressed.
They bundled me up (My sister stayed with the kids)
Off to hospital I went, with swelled shut eye-lids.


Two drip bags of steroids and some antihistamines later,
I looked much more human… much less inflated.
Once more I was told to go to my bed,
And so I did, clutching my shiny new Epi-pen.


If my tale ended here, that would be a rough go,
But it doesn’t, dear reader, there’s more to my woe.
From the girls’ room, next morning, there arose such a clatter,
That I pulled myself from my bed to see what was the matter.


The vomit was spraying from each child through the air,
and I thanked heaven above that buckets were near.
Then I felt a lurch, and a heave of my own,
I ran for the bathroom, and let out a groan.

He found us that night, as we had been all day
Sprawled in the bathroom, covered with spray.
The baby was held over the tub with care,
While the Toddler cried and threw up in my hair.

My own bucket was filled, right to the brim,
There was not one surface that didn’t need scrubbing with Vim.
Two more dark days were spent this way.
And I think, out of decency, that’s all I should say.

But at least, from then on
When the regular Christmas crap comes to pass
I just say to myself, “At least it’s not 2009,
The Year Christmas Kicked My Ass.”