This morning when the twins woke up I went into their room as usual, saying, “Good morning, babies!” Then the wall of scent hit me. It was clear immediately that someone had thrown up. Outward Me: “Oh, honey! Did you frow up? Oh, sweetie! Are you all right? Don’t worry, we’ll get this all cleaned up!” Inward Me: “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit shit shit.”

There are few things as difficult and gross as a toddler with a stomach virus. An older child can be set up on a towel-covered couch with a bucket and the television. A baby can be strapped into a towel-covered bouncy seat. A toddler, all is lost and you might as well burn the house down afterwards.

They won’t stay put. They can’t use a bucket. They can’t tell you that they’re about to throw up. When they do throw up, they play with it. They hate to have their hair washed, and holy crap does it ever need it now.

My only lingering hope is that this was a one-time thing, something that disagreed with her that she has now thrown up. I am hoping beyond reason that this is now over. But I am suspecting that it is not over, and that not only will she continue to throw up, her twin brother will soon start throwing up as well. This is the sort of situation for which the expression “The only way out of it is through it” was coined. Or if it wasn’t, it should have been.