Roulette

If you are a parent, you have or you will find yourself in the following scenario...

It's three AM.  You finally passed out around 11, after the clutter is sorted, dishes (at least) in the sink, homework checked, etc.  Maybe you went crazy and packed a lunch, maybe you even are one of those "show" dads that wrote a damn note to encourage your eight year old for their preconceived big test.  Hell maybe you did laundry on a Tuesday just so the rest of us parents can mentally hate you.  Regardless, you went to bed dog ass tired...and then at three am you are awakened by footsteps.
Momma, Dadda...

You pick up the child regardless of age or weight and flop the on the bed. Two, six, or eight, you pull them in with you.  Quickly you try to get back to sleep.  Then in the silence of a snuggle, it happens; projectile vomit.  It spans the space between your spouse and the small sliver of mattress you still hold from the invader. 

I've been awakened by nightmares, NOAA weather radios, alarm sirens, cell phone Amber Alerts, and my own slumber gas, but nothing is more terrifying than bed vomit.

At this point each parent has a role.
1. Save the mattress.
This parent strips the bed in a single swoop throwing particles into the air.  Laundry is started.

2. Save the child.
Bath tub, deep sink, shower, throw them in and rinse.  Be fast, diarrhea is close behind.

The next step is prepare.  You've both been exposed.  One of you will be the lamb to slaughter.  Although both may succumb, one falls on the sword.  They stay with the child for the next few rounds.  Waiting the solace of empty bowels feels like an eternity.  The other parent covers every surface, light switch, handle, and air filter with Lysol.  Resistance is futile, but you do it anyway.

Over the next several hours normalcy resumes, the other kids join the fray, the sacrificial parent stays home, the kid pukes and rallies and a normal clip. Perhaps they are still in diapers, which is fun.  Or they are older but now so weak they literally fall off the toilet requiring additional clean up assistance.  Soap and sanitize... repeat.  You know it's too late, but you still sanitize again.

Then the nap.  The kid passes out.  

The child awakens, happy.  Things are good, you made it through.

Then, hmmm what was that?
Did I just drink something carbonated?
Why am I suddenly not hungry?
Whoa.  That fart was close.  Too close.
How long till I'm on the floor with my head resting on bathroom tiles?
How long till the shivers?
Is it even worth taking a shower this evening?
Is the washing machine vacant?
Towels and rags stocked?
Where is the damn puke bucket?  Did I clean it after Jr. missed it completely and violated my carpet? 
How long do I have before my vision tunnels.
I need to fart again, but it's like Russian Roulette.
If I burp, is that ok?
Is it hot in here?

It may hit you, perhaps you are lucky and it won't, but for the next 72 or so hours, every air bubble in your GI tract will make you question your location.
Driving on the interstate, is this when it goes down?
During the parent/teacher conference?
Is my spouse ok?  Should I text her and compare notes?
Eventually, as in my most recent case a Saturday road trip ended with me running in the house and well, you know the rest.   You've been there, if you haven't you will.  Sanitize. Repeat.

Finally, your other progeny walk in the room, holding their stomachs, looking pale.  It's a full alarm digestive emergency, everyone save themselves.  Dad has to go to the bathroom.