lessons from vomit

Last night was difficult. Tracy and Cameron were up all night throwing up. Michael decided to join the puke party around 3 AM. On three separate occasions last night, my sweet daughter lulled me into a false sense of security, only to teach me an important lesson. I went to the store late last night to get some ginger ale, as Tracy uses it to settle an upset stomach. Whether I think it works or not is irrelevant. And I don’t. Anyways, Cameron slept most of yesterday afternoon on the couch. When I got home with the ginger ale, Tracy thought it would be wise to wake her and have her take just a sip of it. Cameron didn’t want to take it. Poor thing had been dry heaving all day. I did my best as a loving daddy to get her to drink some and she finally assented. After taking a sip, she decided she wanted more. I was hesitant, but thought that Cameron might be pulling through this bug and was reaching the stage where she would become ravenous with thirst and hunger after nearly 30 hours of fasting. She had perked up and was acting as if she was feeling better. I reluctantly got her some more ginger ale, around 6 ounces, which she heartily drank. She ran around a little more, laughing and skipping, and finally asked if she could snuggle me on the couch. This is one of my greatest joys as a father, so I quickly agreed, tucked her in tightly beside me, and enjoyed the moment. I quickly grabbed the “throw-up bowl”, which had become standard fare that afternoon, just in case. Cameron saw the bowl and said to me, “Daddy, I’m feeling better. I’m not going to throw-up anymore. I’m not sick.” I figured if she was well enough to drink the ginger ale, skip around the room, and then lucidly tell me that she’s just fine, then she must be. I put the bowl away and went back to our snuggling. Not 30 seconds later, from my armpit to my hip, I was covered in vomit. After the first round of vomiting, she continued, first on my lap, and then finally into the bowl for which I was frantically grabbing. I guess she was in fact still sick. I cleaned her up and brought her into bed with us. About and hour-and-a-half later, she woke me up saying she was thirsty and needed some water. In my half-awake state, I got her a cup of water, not clearly remembering the events of just a few hours earlier. Again, she chugged the liquid. Again, she wanted to curl up next to me and sleep. And yes, again, I ended up with puke all over me. You would think I would have learned my lesson after getting thrown-up on two times in as many hours. After the second incident, I got a towel, mopped up most of the vomit, and laid down a couple of other towels, vowing to get to it in the morning. Instead of moving beds, I was so tired I just turned around, meaning I put my head near the footboard and feet by the headboard. I went to sleep. As I mentioned earlier, Michael decided to join in all the fun and around 3:30 AM, we awoke to the sound of heaving and the distinct splat of four half-digested hot dogs being expelled from Michael’s stomach and onto to the tile floor. Since I had already been puked on twice and was getting very grumpy about being woken up again, Tracy got up and helped Michael. She is such a sweet wife and I’m a lousy piece of crap - remember, she’s also sick. I just laid there in bed trying to sleep, frustrated with being woken up again, and I let my sick wife get up to help our other sick son. My guilt caused me to toss and turn until Tracy came back to bed. I noticed that the commotion had woken up Cameron. She asked very nicely for a glass of apple juice. Now, I’m slow at times, and being 4 AM doesn’t help matters, but I did not want to have "Cameron Throws Up on Daddy III." I got her a small sip of juice. She wanted more. I refused. She begged. She pleaded. She used all of her wiles against me. I caved. I got her a glass of cool apple juice. She drained it. At this point, I laid her down on the stack of towels with her bowl wanting no part of what I knew must be coming. I returned to my makeshift sleeping area at the foot of the bed and said goodnight. Soon, Cameron came to join me. She said that she just wanted to be with me and snuggle so that she could fall back asleep. She assured me that she was feeling better. The apple juice had really helped. Not forgetting her wily ways, I brought the bowl down to the foot of the bed and the towels. I knew it was coming and didn’t want to get in its way this time. Cameron was now adamant. “Daddy, I’m better now. Thank you for the juice.” I was afraid. I was exhausted. She sounded so sweet and sincere. She didn’t want the bowl or the towels, they were just for the sick people and she was all better. All she wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep, right next to her daddy. How could I refuse? She had used her charm and I was powerless. I’m sure you’ve deduced what happened next. Within a minute of succumbing to her pleading, I was once again covered in puke. I swore. I knew it was going to happen and let my guard down long enough so that it did. I wasn’t mad at my daughter for being sick and wanting the comfort of her father. I was upset with myself for failing to avoid a situation that I knew would make a huge mess. Three times a sweet little girl seduced her daddy into believing that all is well. Three times, I end up with vomit all over me. What are the lessons here? I'll let you decide.