When your baby vomits for the first time, it’s scary. He’s obviously upset because this has never happened to him before. He’s in pain from the stomach cramps. Food is clearly going in the wrong direction. And there’s no end in sight.

As parents, you are upset because there’s really nothing you can do for him. You sit on the floor with him as he cries and rub his back, hoping the waves of nausea subside. Praying that this is the last time he pukes.

When you AND your husband get the stomach bug from your baby, all Hell breaks loose.

Ethan had spent the weekend “sharing” his bottle with us and not eating any solid foods.

By Sunday night, hubby began feeling sick. He spent the night expelling anything that dared pass his lips. The following morning, he felt no better and planned on staying home from work. This posed a slight problem because Ethan’s daycare is very close to hubby’s job, and I work 40 miles in the other direction. I threw on some clothes that didn’t make me look like I just rolled out of bed, got E ready and off we went.

I returned to the house to find hubby hadn’t moved a muscle and was about to get ready when I heard, “Can you take me to urgent care?” Because that is always a quick trip. He felt so weak from vomiting all night that I had to help him in/out of the car and then he leaned on me from the car to the entrance of the clinic.

They had him lay down on the table in the room and gave him IV fluids while he moaned he was cold and needed more blankets. After an hour or so, he was well enough to be upright again and venture home. Of course, the car ride made him sick again and he spent the remainder of the day in bed.

I finally got to work around 1 pm. I work in a lab where I have to maintain tissue sections in a growth media that has to be changed out every few days, so I promptly got to work on that.

I had just finished that when my phone rang.  It was Ethan’s daycare. He wanted to show her how far he could spew.  I needed to drive the hour back north to get him, thus ending any chance of getting more work done. We came home and for the remainder of the evening he was his happy self without issue.

After a bath and into his pajamas, I fed him a bottle and attempted to get him to go to sleep. That was followed by crying and screaming.

My assumption was that he was hungry.

I.Was.Wrong.

I was holding and shushing him while I dared to make another bottle when he started pushing me away and shrieking.

And then it happened.

Diarrhea came shooting out of his ass like a geyser. The diaper was no match for this level of carnage.  It exploded all over Ethan and my clothes. I stood there in horror thinking this was a joke and Ashton Kutcher (yes, I know Punk’d ended over 8 years ago) was just off-camera laughing his heart out.

I have never screamed FUCK!!!! so loud in my life.

Mind you, I didn’t even hear a peep from the peanut gallery in the bedroom.

Into the bath he went for the second time. I eventually got him cleaned up, calmed down, and into bed.

Hubby never moved a muscle the whole time.

By 10 pm, I was hugging the toilet.

What a glorious day in parenthood that was.