I should have said "No."
Zeke and I had been planning to hop a train to Menlo Park on Sunday night for our now weekly mother/son dinner and bookstore visit.
Unfortunately, Zeke had been mildly sick all weekend, and as we prepared to leave for the train, I got a hint that his condition was deteriorating when he pointed to his head and said "huuurts." I felt his head (it felt hot) gave him a hug, and told him I thought maybe we should just stay home and snuggle instead of going to the train. He objected to this plan, insisting that he felt well enough for the train, so stupidly, I relented.
He seemed fine on the way to the station, and was happy as could be on the train ride, but as soon as we got off, again he gave me the "huuuurts" routine. I picked him up and told him no problem, a train would be along in ten minutes and we could go right back home where we would watch TV and rest.
Again though, he objected, insisting that he was fine and that, "dumplings and tea will make me feel better." So again, against my better judgment, I gave in. I figured there was no way to tell if he was going to get better or worse—sometimes he snaps back over the course of five minutes—and it would be a shame to abort our trip when there was a good chance he'd be just fine.
As it turns out, he got worse.
Every five steps on the walk to the restaurant he stopped, pointed at his head, and reminded me that it hurt. And each time, I bent down, gave him a hug, assured him that I felt his pain, and asked if he wanted to go back to the train.
"No. I want dumplings," was his steady refrain.
So on we pressed. Finally made it to the restaurant and placed our order, but I could tell things were going downhill fast because even in a room full of food and people, he was complaining about his head.
I told him to drink a lot of water, because water would make him feel better.
He did. And he rested his head on his plate. And when the food finally came, he got excited and seemed to forget about feeling sick. I was thinking we were in the clear. Then, just as he finished one dumpling and was contemplating another, he very casually turned his head to the right and projectile vomited into the aisle of the packed restaurant. No pre-announcement, no crying afterward, just non-chalant high-volume barfing.
Ugh. I felt so bad. For Zeke and for the restaurant staff that were going to have to clean up a big fat batch of hot stinky puke (from a carpeted floor).
I asked Zeke if he was OK, and asked the waiter to bag our food and prepare our check. We got out of there as quickly as we could. Of course Zeke felt better by the time we got home.
Bottom line though: Lesson learned. Next time Mommy will just say no.