Someday I'll learn to keep my mouth shut

Last night was a nightmare. She stayed asleep until midnight, then woke up puking and screaming. We cleaned her up, she puked again. We cleaned her up, she puked again. We were out of clean sheets for her bed, so we let her sleep in the (only slightly) foul ones, and it's a good thing she did, because she threw up six more times, and she's not very good about hitting the new, improved puke bucket.

I learned last time she was sick that we've got about 15 seconds of warning before stuff starts flying, so at 2am I'd hear a cough on the monitor, shoot out of bed, run into her room, grab the bucket, and (hopefully) catch the worst of it. By 3 I had given up and was just sleeping in there, so when I'd hear the cough I could just roll over and grab the bucket. I don't know that it was any more effective, but at least I didn't have to vault over the cats in the hallway.

Meanwhile, I was having one of those nights when I worry about everything remotely stressful in my life to the point where I make myself sick, and every time I would shut off the running commentary in my head and just about fall asleep, she'd start yakking again. Jason was put on "rinse out the bucket and throw out these wipes" duty, so I think between the three of us we got maybe four hours of sleep last night.

Then the diarrhea started.

And she puked up most of a can of ginger ale when I put her down for her nap at 11:30. That's 11 times in 11 hours, in case you were wondering. Poor thing.

And, of course, today we have a prospective real estate agent coming by to check out the house, so I've been throwing smelly sheets in the washing machine as fast as I can, and checking to make sure nothing smells too bad anywhere else. Yep, gonna be a long couple of weeks until we get out of here.