Recently, Maleen and I spent some time cleaning up after a throw up incident. It was disgusting, as anyone on the cleanup crew after a puking incident can tell you. I actually have a friend who will clean up any bodily fluid except vomit because he'll puke if he smells it. (I think he just says that so his wife will have to clean it up.)
It was Robyn this time. When she went to bed, she felt fine, but had been awakened by an uncomfortable feeling in her tummy. She had remained in bed, hoping the snuggliness of the covers would make it all go away. It didn't. She felt worse. She hunkered down, hoping that blasted feeling would just quit.
She realized too late that the snugglies of the blanket would do her no good. She took a last look at Patches, her stuffed dog, before the chunks started flying. In the nick of time, she thrust her head in the other direction, away from the wall where Patches lay quietly comforting her, and toward that hump of covers on the other side: June.
During the bath part of clean up, Robyn queried Mom as to whether Patches had made it out unscathed. In fact, Patches was clean as clean gets. Lucky Patches, we thought. Then Robyn filled us in on the rest of the story: "Ya, at the last moment I turned toward June to throw up, because I didn't want to get Patches dirty. It worked."
So how bad was it downstream? How much eventually got tangled up in June's hair and soaked into her blankets? For those of you worried about poor June, you can rest easy. She was very tightly nestled into her blanket and sheet, which snug nestling made a temporary waterproof (and chunkproof) barrier. When I unwrapped our little June tortilla, she was clean and miraculously unhurled-upon.
We bathed Robyn, scrubbed the bed, changed the bed clothes, dressed Robyn, and sent them back to bed. But hey, at least Patches is safe.