with this and Dad for that long. I should’ve kept my big mouth shut.
The lunch turned out to be shorter than expected. Easton complained of a tummy ache, which was weird as she rarely got sick. After they played the games for a bit, we sat down to eat, but she said she wasn’t hungry. She loved pizza, so that was the second strange thing. She barely spoke to Stuart and she was usually a chatterbox. He was actually nice to her. We were all munching on our pizza when Easton threw up everywhere.
Stuart flew out of his seat, yelling, “Gross.”
Dad ran to get extra napkins and paper towels. Mom moved all the food away and I pulled Easton on my lap because after Stuart yelled at her she started crying. I glared at him over her head.
“Um, sorry,” Stuart said. “Sort of a knee-jerk reaction.”
“Kids get sick, Stuart, and don’t know what to do. She’s only six.”
Dad came back and cleaned up the mess, including Easton. Stuart stood there like a dumb rock. I nearly cracked up when Dad shoved the soiled napkins in Stuart’s arms, saying, “Make yourself useful.”
Stuart jumped back so as not to touch the heinous items. This man was not cut out for parenthood.
I stood, still holding Easton. “I’m taking her home. Stuart, we’ll talk later. Mom and Dad, thanks.”
“We’ll follow you,” Mom said.
I walked out, not bothering to say anything else. My baby was sick and needed me. That was the only thing I cared about.
Easton threw up two more times on the way home. My heart broke for her because she didn’t understand what was happening.
“Mommy, I don’t like this.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“I wanna be under the rainbow again.”
“You will. Soon. We’ll get you home and in the bathtub.”
Her sobs stabbed me straight in the heart. “My princess dress is ruined.”
“Guess what? It was too small for you anyway, so we’ll get you a brand-new one.”
“I don’t want a new one. I like this one.”
“What if we get the exact same one?” Our house was down the street and I exhaled a sigh as we pulled into the garage.
“Okay.”
As I reached to unbuckle her from the booster seat, another round of vomiting hit her. It covered us both this time.
Mom and Dad pulled into the driveway. One look at me and Mom came running.
“Can you go inside and grab some towels, please?” I asked.
Mom headed inside and Dad went to the cabinet where I kept the paper towels. He wiped what he could and Mom was there handing me the towels. I wiped Easton and got her out of the car. Then I stripped the dress off.
“I’m going to bathe her.” I carried her directly to the bathroom where I ran the water. She still cried, saying that her tummy hurt. “Baby, where does it hurt?”
“All over.”
Mom came in then and I asked her to get the thermometer. It showed Easton was running a fever of a hundred and one.
“That’s not too bad,” Mom said. “I remember the first time you were sick. I was in full panic mode.”
“Kind of like I am now.” Easton’s whimpers were gut-punching me.
“Yeah. It’s no picnic when your kids get sick.”
“Mommy, make it go away.”
“It will, sweetheart.”
“Make the rainbow come back.” She hung her head as she sat in the tub. I was used to seeing her splashing around, laughing in the bubbles. This was not normal.
“Should I call the doctor?” I asked Mom.
Dad poked his head into the bathroom. “How is she?”
“Not good.”
“Boppy, my tummy hurts.” And with that, another burst of vomiting occurred.
“Where is all this coming from? Her stomach should be empty.” My answer came in the form of dry heaves that followed.
“Mommy, make it stop.”
“Hey, Dad, can you run to the store and get some of those children’s ice pops? You know, for when they get sick?”
“Do you need anything else?”
“Yeah, ask the pharmacist what works to stop vomiting.”
Dad disappeared and I emptied and rinsed the tub, then refilled it as Easton shivered.
Three hours later, she was still dry-heaving and refused to suck on an ice pop, no matter what we did. Her complaints were what scared me the most. Easton was a tough kid. She’d been knocked down on the soccer field, she’d fallen off her bike a dozen or more times, and throughout it all, I’d never seen her complain or cry about being hurt more than a minute or so. Sure, throwing up was awful and gross. But her whimpers about