I suffered from a horrible period of parental guilt last weekend. Max walked in the bedroom on Friday with a bag of goldfish crackers. Ali asked, “Are those old?”
I replied, “Nah, those things last forever…”
Two hours later, Max woke up vomiting violently. He threw up every 20 to 30 minutes for 10 hours straight. I called the doctor and he said if Max was still throwing up by noon the following day, we’d have to take him to the emergency room for an IV. Thankfully, Max stopped shortly after 10:00 a.m. and finally fell asleep.
I was flooded with guilt over letting him eat those crackers and was really beating myself up about it. I vowed to start labeling all crackers by date of purchase so it would never happen again. Richard kept saying, “It’s okay, honey. Who knew those things ever go bad? I mean, they pump them so full of preservatives, blah blah…” I wasn’t buying it. I’d screwed up big time and my baby was paying the price.
On Sunday, while we were picking Ali up from her friend’s house, she promptly vomited on the street by the van. Huh?
A few hours later, I, too, was lying in bed, wishing I was dead, and, at 2:00 a.m., Frank called from his friend’s house to say he was sick and wanted to come home. Richard started feeling queasy and Zach, the only symptom-free person in the house, was walking around with his shirt pulled over his mouth and nose, terrified he’d get sick during Spring Break. We actually ran out of big bowls to distribute and I was trying to help the children between periods of helping myself. It was a nightmare!
Frank definitely had it the worst and he was zonked out in his room all day Monday, recovering from his night in hell.
I, however, feel a thousand times better, not because we’ve finally stopped throwing up, but because we now know…IT WASN’T THE CRACKERS!
Hugs to all!