Unwell

My poor daughter.  First thing this morning, my 4.5 year old walks out onto the patio, (as I was starting my blog).  She looks at me, blank stare, as pale as a ghost.  She opens her mouth, and this would be the start of the day from hell.  No pun intended considering today was the day of the "rapture".  Luckily, we're all still here UN-luckily cleaning up a few different rounds of vomit.  That poor child.  It completely horrifies her to get sick like that.  The first time I got lucky. We were outside. However, the second, third, and fourth times, she was in the house, on her bed, in the bathroom, living room.  It's times like these that I have to take a deep breath and remind myself that it's not her fault.  She isn't old enough to understand when she needs to run to the bathroom and find the toilet.  You might ask why I have to stop and think about not getting angry when my precious daughter is ill like this.  I can remember countless times as a child being this sick and making huge messes in the home.  My mother, my angry, clean freak mother would completely blow a gasket when we got sick as children.  I can remember being scared to death after getting sick in the house for fear of being in trouble.  Never a comforting hug, never apologizing for how horrible we felt in that moment.  Just yelling, cussing under her breath, screaming at us to go to the bathroom. Just pure anger over the mess on the floors, or sheets.  I remember feeling like a huge inconvenience to her when we were sick.  As a parent now I could never understand that.  I'm not saying that it isn't extremely frustrating to clean that up but all I could think about this morning was trying to keep her calm, clean her up, get her back to bed, and then deal with the mess.  My daughters feelings were much more important than my worrying about the mess.  I couldn't IMAGINE yelling at her for that.  Speaking of Sickie McSickerton, I guess I should go get her tucked in!