Open Letter to My Son

You know I love you dearly, right? Even at midnight, when I have just dropped off to sleep and you wake me up with those three special little words “Ima, I puked”. I don’t know what it is with you. You were taken out (not by me) to a lovely restaurant (ok kosher fast food) for dinner with your brothers. You ate a schnitzel baguette with oily fries at the one kosher restaurant in town that I will not take you to. I get sick every single time I eat there. The indigestion and toilet runs are not worth it. You and your brothers love that place. Everything they cook there is fried in grease and then refried in more oily stuff. Euw.

Seems this happens often to you that you eat out and then get sick around midnight – all over the floor. How hard is it to get yourself to the bathroom? I know that as soon as I feel the first signs of nausea I am worshipping at the porcelain throne. You have thrown up before, you know what it feels like before it happens. Get up and run.

Seriously, kid, I know that part of my job is to clean up the floor after you and your brothers have emptied your discomfited stomachs. It wasn’t in the parenting agreement that I signed…oh right, yeah, that was a fantasy document.  No one had told me that I would show my love for my sons by mopping up their vomit. That I would smile and hug a kid, neverminding that we were both covered in vomit. That stepping into a pile of sick is all in a day’s work.

I remember a time, my son, that the idea of someone else heaving near me was enough to make me run and hurl myself. How the times have changed. You asked me this morning how come it didn’t gross me out to clean up after you. It did a little. I think there were two occasions during clean up that I indeed threw up a little in my mouth. I didn’t tell you that though. I pulled you into a bear hug and told you that when you love someone you do things that may be gross sometimes, because you love them. But, Ima, you said, why weren’t you mad that I vomited in the hallway not the toilet? (why do you have to analyze the times I am not mad, can you not be happy that I wasn’t mad and take it at face value?) I told you I understood it wasn’t something you did on purpose – but it would have been easier if you had made it to the bathroom.

Dear child, I got you cleaned up and back into bed. You laid your head down on your pillow and within seconds you were asleep, looking angelic. It took me a while to clean up and then I headed to shower, and back to bed. By that time I was wide awake. I laid in bed, listening for sounds of you needing to throw up again. I had to check on you eleventeen hundred times.

You woke up this morning, full of energy – as if last night had not happened. You felt fine. Well rested. Your tummy didn’t hurt. I was the zombie, nursing my coffee as if it held the secret to eternal life.

I am glad you feel better. I am thrilled for you that there are no lasting ill effects from your nocturnal up chucking. Just please, next time, throw up in the toilet bowl. We would both be much happier.

With love


PS how about eating healthier food when you eat out, like a salad or something? Sigh……

Bookmark and Share

Post Written by


  1. elie says:

    that cracked me up!

  2. RubyV says:

    Bawahahahaha! I too, have had the same musings. When Pixie had H1N1, did she run to the bathroom to puke? No, she puked all over my brand spanking new down comforter. Sigh.

  3. Estee Lavitt says:

    This is certainly funny and well written. But the point I got out of this post was more sentimental and emotional. Our love for our children is really unlimited even when they do gross things!
    Thank you. And I hope your son reads this too so he can appreciate you even more!

  4. batya from NJ says:

    LOL! i’m glad he’s feeling better now & hopefully you’ll both get a good night’s sleep tonight!

  5. Lady Lock and Load says:

    Sounds like you had a “fun” night. You must be exhausted! I keep a box of disposable gloves around at all times to use in cases like this.

  6. When I was four I fell out of bed and broke my collarbone. Ever after that, my mother would station chairs and pillows to “catch me” in case I ever did it again. I did like to thrash around in bed but I never fell out of my bed again.

    It sounds like the kid needs a bucket by the bed. Especially after trips to his favorite restaurant. :)

  7. sheldan says:

    Uh, let me get this straight…

    Your sons go to a restaurant that makes them sick every time? And they love it?

    Does anyone see something wrong with this picture?

    • HSaboMilner says:

      they want to go there because i refuse to take them. they forget that it makes them sick. they are children. they don’t remember their Ima having to mop up chunky stuff off the floor.

      • sheldan says:

        So do they actually not mind being sick?

        When I get sick, I usually remember that I don’t want to get sick again. Then again, when we’re adults we often know what we don’t want to repeat…

  8. tikunolam says:

    Classic mommy story. Makes me think of all the time pee ended up on me and on the floor :)

  9. Rebecca says:

    Yeah Sheldon, but I would ask Hadassah:
    1) How old is the child who got sick.
    2) If you know he gets sick at this restaurant, and he is the only one that gets sick, why do take him there? Y not take the other three and have #4 stay at a friend, and take him someplace else as a special treat. When my children were young, Jason of blessed memory, if they vomited, my husband would take over because I got sick myself. I was lucky from memory that they mostly vomited when he was home and not during he day with me. The other, diaper change was my domain.
    I would not take a child to a resturant that I know he gets sick or I would make sure that he eats salad and explain why.

  10. sheldan says:

    Talk about above and beyond the call of duty…

  11. Otir says:

    I liked your letter a lot, because it certainly hits home for most of the mothers who know that this goes with the territory (I could have written “parents” instead of “mothers”, but this has not been in my own experience, so I let it to others to describe the parental dedication with no gender gap, as I have recently read somewhere else a post by a male blogger who offended me a lot in that matter: in a nutshell he was explaining that these chores were deliberately left to his wife because he was “grossed out” by the tasks, and he was referring to an infant diaper changing, good luck for the next fifteen years to the happy couple, was my inner reaction!)…

    What I liked most about your open letter is the idea that maybe your son will actually read it or hear it from you, that a loving and caring person goes beyond repulsive reactions to something that is accidental in order to come to comfort and help. Because I believe this is where the real lesson lays, and where we can teach our sons about acceptance: it’s easier to show love and wonder when facing cuteness and harder when events bring disgust and violence.

    I am talking from the place of a mother of a teenager with severe developmental disabilities, also trying to teach her other typically developing teen to still be proud of his sibling and loving and caring for everyone. I am most happy when I get reactions from people around me about how loving those two brothers look to each other. It does help so much remembering that when grossing out things happen in the privacy of our home.

  12. Mommy says:

    When my son was about two he went to the refrigerator to get his bottle out (I know I know, but he had a twin sister and I let them keep their bottles as long as they wanted). He got a funny look on his face as he stood there and then proceeded to vomit all over the INSIDE of the refrigerator which of course also ran out on the OUTSIDE of the refrigerator, floor and underneath the fridge. You just can’t imagine what it looked like. I had to move the refrigerator (tearing the floor in the process) and clean for hours to get it all. I literally could not have done this for ANYONE else but one of my three children.

Leave A Reply