This post is not about poop

Well, not until the end, anyway. Most of it is about vomit.

When Barak woke up Shabbos morning in a foul mood, I didn't think much of it. We'd let him stay up far too late the night before for the seuda, and he was, of course, tired. When he opened his mouth and a huge amount of yellowy mucous came out (oh yeah, this post is about mucous too, I forgot), I didn't think so much of that either. He is permanently congested and his nose always runs. No biggie. The fact that he had never vomited once in his life, and as a baby spat up twice (yup, twice, because I remember both times) probably had something to do with my state of denial.

The state of denial ended abruptly about ten minutes after breakfast, when what seemed like gallons of orange juice and Cheerios abruptly appeared all over the rug. And when Barak, my resister of sleep par excellence, told me he wanted to cuddle, climbed into my bed and went to sleep, it was pretty clear that something was wrong.

When he woke up, I tried to get him to drink some watered-down juice. No dice. Pedialyte? Forget it. When he just played with the two (TWO!) popsicles I gave him, I started to worry, because it was close to 24 hours since he'd kept any liquids down, he wasn't drinking anything, and visions of ER visits too recently past were starting to dance in my head.

By late afternoon, he was playing and seeming happy, although still refusing to drink. I called the doctor as soon as Shabbos was out. "If he throws up again, or if he doesn't drink anything by midnight, take him to the ER." Ohh boy. And he'd have to go with MHH, too, because with me nursing Iyyar it would either be all of us or none of us. And the very idea of MHH being asked to hold Barak down for a possible IV... oh, bad bad bad. Very bad.

So I tried. I offered juice. Popsicles. Pedialyte. I sent MHH to the store for Sprite. I even briefly considered offering it to him in a Diet Coke can (he is always angling for a taste, never with any success, strange to report) but thought better of it in fairly short order.

Finally, the offer of kiddush juice--that once-a-week-treat--was met with acceptance. He drank about three ounces of half grape juice, half water. He went to sleep.

And threw up.

He was, of course, hysterical, as I changed his sheets and cleaned him up and steeled myself for the ER trip that seemed inevitable. But he was crying real tears. Big wet ones. I saw hope. I called the doctor back. "He's crying real tears, and his diaper wasn't totally dry. Do we still need to take him in."

And he said no.

Ahhh.

Barak went back to sleep. MHH bedded down in there for the night. I went back to sleep in our room with Iyyar (more on this tomorrow). All good.

This morning, Barak seemed fine. MHH took him to the doctor for walk-in hours (hour, really) and he was pronounced cured from what was probably a virus. He ate popsicles with abandon. He cheerfully accompanied me in the stroller for a walk to get out of the house so MHH could have some time to do pre-Yom Kippur stuff. I put him down for a nap. And about half an hour later, heard a little voice calling "Imma... change diaper please... Imma... change diaper..."

Because his diaper, pants, and crib were full of diarrhea.

G'mar chasima tova, everyone. Have a sweet, healthy, and diarrhea-free new year.