The Big Girl hasn’t felt well at camp the past few days. She called from the infirmary on Monday, having spent most of Sunday sleeping there.
She was debating whether to go on the “senior trip,” a three-day trip to Boston, which left yesterday morning. Her virus was revealing itself as nausea and generally feeling crappy in the morning, but getting better midday to evening, then reappearing in the morning. Sunday was her fourth day feeling this way, and she was understandably distressed about the possibility of not going on the trip with her friends.
My advice: go on the trip. Since it had been four days, I figured it had run its course and if she stayed behind – where everyone would be sixth graders and under – she’d be miserable the second she felt better.
Wrong. She called us at 7:30 this morning (they are allowed their phones while on the trip) to tell me she had thrown up. Great call on going, mom. And they wouldn’t let her stay behind in the hotel room to sleep it off (maybe they’d rather she infect the rest of the kids? Kidding, I understand the liability involved). So now I feel mommy guilt that I told her to go.
If I’d told her to stay back, she would have woken up today feeling peachy keen, right?