We were awoken at about 4:45 to the sounds of Amanda coughing. It was a terrible, painful sound, and I leapt out of bed before I could really think. I found her standing in her bed, shaking, scared, crying. It was only when I went to pick her up that I realized what had happened – the dark light of the room prevented me from seeing much of anything, but it was clear what was going on as soon as I picked her up. The moment she was in the air, a great heaving sound welled up from in her and before I knew it, a great torrent of fluid purged forth from her mouth . . . all over my arm.
She’s never been a puker. She’s only done this, really, once before, on a drive to my parent’s house in the morning, and that was an isolated incident. Alissa and I hoped that this one would be like that, too – perhaps a bit of acid reflux or something. We gave her a bit of water to soothe her raw throat and wash that terrible taste away, but learned a half hour or so away that it was not going to be a solitary incident, and a half hour after that we learned that it wouldn’t just be a pair of them . . . it kept going on for a few hours. And then it stopped and she was back to normal. We let her eat, cautiously, all day, and nothing happened, not the slightest hint of a problem arose.
We just put her to bed about 20 minutes ago, having had a small dinner of pasta and apple sauce a couple hours before that, and a little bit of sliced cheese that she insisted upon. Just a few minutes before I wrote this, the coughing began from her room, and we launched an offensive upon her bedside, only to find her standing next to a stinky pool of partially digested spaghetti and liquid cheese. “I spilled noodles,” she said, voice shaking from crying. It was reverse macaroni and cheese. I’m glad I don’t eat mac and cheese because I’d never touch that stuff again after this.