Four loads of putrid, stinking laundry. 2 baths. A rancid remnant of River in the van. The fresh air mocks from outside the windows. I left once. That was a huge mistake. I should've stayed inside where my nose was adjusted to the stale smell of sickness that was haunting our home.
Dry heaves, a crying toddler. He looked to mommy and daddy for comfort, but the best we could do was rub his back as it arched with voracious heaving. Poor little guy. He would grab his stomach when he felt another attack coming on and just mumble his repetitions of mama or dada until it finally came up and out.
Vomit is volatile and disgusting and should be added to the list of four letter profanities.
It is now a bad word in this germ infested home.
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