Weak Stomach? This Ain't for You, Babe.

Oy! There's a nasty little bug going around right now, and unfortunately my home has been infected. The other night beginning around 2:00am, Jesse began puking and virtually did not stop till around 9:00. There were brief intervals of about two to twenty minutes between bursts, but the process cycled continuously throughout the night. Needless to say, neither of us slept a single wink. I was praising everything holy in gratitude for the stacks of twenty-something freshly washed and folded towels I had just put away, because we wore through all but three, as well as every blanket under our roof. WARNING: It's going to get nasty from here on out, so move along if you aren't up for it. I cannot help myself; I have an overwhelming need to purge my mind of the horrific details of that night, and lucky you, I've chosen to express it all here.
OH- MY- GOSH. (dramatic pause...) The things that poured from that child... Before bed I had served him a big bowl (much too big, as it turned out) of a quadruple-chocolate brownie a la mode. I tend to over-do it in the junk food department when Jesse's missing his dad; it's my form of ineffective compensation. Anyway, there cannot possibly exist a richer or thicker brew of olfactory warfare than the brownie/ice cream/bile combination after about three hours of digestion. Before I managed to turn on the overhead light I was actually quite terrified, because it seemed my son was in fact vomiting fecal matter. I'm not joking in the slightest; it was that bad- I was completely horrified. When I learned what was truly going on, of course, my heart rate slowed a bit- but not much. Jes just doesn't throw up often, and the experience really plowed him over. He'd gag and purge and then wail in pain and fear. It was horrible. (-For us all! -Meaning J and me, I had no help, mind you-) After the fourth or fifth round I realized this was not going to let up, and I grabbed a bowl for him to use, mostly out of pity and respect for my innocent bedding, which I'm sure will never be the same. But, poor, dear child! When I thrust the bowl beneath my baby's chin and caught the awful stuff, he seemed to think I was somehow offering this nasty mess to him in some way, and in between bouts would weakly cry out, "All done! All done!" which he always means as "Please take this away! I don't want it!" In a desperate effort to get his point across he kept pushing the thing away from him, unintentionally multiplying my growing nemesis which was this mess. As the situation allowed I would quickly gather the contaminated linens and rush them to the wash, partly to try and minimize the stench in the room. But boy oh boy, the odor got worse. Enter phase two of the Jesse stomach virus.
Let's keep this next part short and swe-- short and, vague.
I was pleasantly surprised to see Jesse leap from the bed to turn on the television when I suggested we watch some "toons." I hoped it would be a nice distraction for him, but I didn't quite expect his exuberant and enthusiastic bounce from the bed. Wow, he was excited for something. Maybe he was starting to feel a bit better! But the newfound light at the end of the tunnel turned out to be the glow of an oncoming train. It could have been the sudden motion, or maybe it was divine mercy for my mattress, but just as J reached my side of the bed and was about to climb aboard, his face was suddenly struck with shock and fear. Immediately after I registered his breathless, "Mom! I have poop!" I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye I witnessed a dark torrent of putrid mud that shot in all directions from every available avenue to the world beyond the diaper. After the initial surge was through and the- shall we say, matter- had spewed a respectable distance, it continued to seep southward, coating the legs and finally plopping to rest in a thick, heavy puddle at my dear child's feet. But before I could even gasp in horror, the heavens opened and a beautiful, white light shown down to reveal that my son was standing directly in the center of a mountain of towels that had been thrown haphazardly from the bed. My thoughts continued their race forward to a profuse pity for my tiny boy's bowels, but I did not discount the miracle that had just been bestowed upon me.
Well, so much for being vague, but you know what? I feel better now! I guess misery really does love company. And to think, you almost didn't read this! ...Suckers.