At 5:00 I had the happiest little man on earth playing with his soft octopus and by 6:00 I was covered in carrot and pear puree vomit.
What an unexpected surprise.
After the first puke...I was like ehhh whatever. Babies throw up. He scarfed his supper really fast and I figured his tummy was probably just upset. Josh helped us clean up, I got us both changed...and then the second round of puke hit. Again, I was able to catch most of it with my chest, which as odd as it sounds, I was pretty happy about. It meant my floors, rugs, bedding, and couches were all spared from the bright orange puke. Josh was beside himself about all of this, asking if we should go to the doctor (there was no fever involved) and being so first-time-parent dramatic (here I am pretending to be laid back again!!!)...watching your baby throw up is certainly not fun but I reminded him Maverick isn't the first baby to puke, and he won't be the last.
This led me to another shocking realization that we have so. many. more years of kids and puke. Like 20 years or more. I haven't mentioned this to yet to Josh because it's depressing to think about, so let's just keep it between us, mkay?
We wiped down, cleaned up, changed again...and when I sat Maverick up on his changing table, the river of vomit came flowing out again. HOW DID HE HAVE ANYTHING LEFT? I could see and hear it coming before it was out...being thrown up on twice was all it took for this mommy to get a handle on the learning curve. I caught it all in a towel! But geez there was a lot of it. Kind of a shocking amount. I pretended it was fine, sent Josh to the movie, and secretly called First Nurse and texted some mommy's for insight.
After about 45 minutes of cuddles and a cat nap, I was about to put Maverick down for the night in his crib but as soon as I stood up to carry him to his room, I could hear it coming again. After that fourth puke (it landed on the fresh towel I had secured between us, another #momwin!) he started to snap back to his usual Maverick-self, kicking on his changing pad and talking a little bit. We cuddled and watched Baby Einstein until bedtime and I was finally able to start the carrot-orange-stained laundry.
The weirdest part was that it took a fourth time for him to 'perk' up. The nurse said it sounded like a virus because after each episode, he got more tired, lethargic, relaxed, cuddly, and sad. If it was an upset tummy, once or twice should have done the trick. Either way, Nurse recommended I wait 4 hours after the last episode before I fed him and to keep an eye on his wet diapers because he lost so much fluid. I fed him at midnight, he had a wet diaper by 2am, and woke up a perfect, happy, new man this morning. I mentally prepared to go to the ER for fluids in the night because I know that's a pretty common thing and I wanted to be ready if that was necessary. Praise God it wasn't!
It was at this point I decided he was feeling himself and could handle bedtime...
We're spending today making sure we get the best naps possible, drinking some Pedialyte, and taking it easy with food...I don't think I can look at carrots for a while, though I'm sure Maverick wouldn't think twice about them. The plans I had to spend the day in Des Moines with my mother-and-sister-in-laws are cancelled...and the funny thing is...I couldn't be more fine with it. Missing a movie night and leaving that bottle of wine unopened in the fridge? Good with that too. I feel like I just overcame a really big 'mom first' last night and I wanted to reflect a little.
Do I get a promotion for that job well done last night? Or a raise (Jamie did bring me Chick-Fil-A for supper at 9pm...so that probably counts as some kind of reward)? Or some kind of award? No...none of those things come with this 24/7, stay-at-home-mom job. What's weird is that it's reward enough to know I responded to my baby with what he needed, when he needed it, took care of him through the night, and I'm giving him what I know he needs today. And I took care of my other baby (Josh) by getting him get out of the house for the fun thing he was looking forward to for two weeks, while I stayed home and did the dirty work. I was prepared for days like this and now was my time to shine. The weirdest thing of all...I was genuinely happy to do all of it. Because it's the job I've been called to.
We waited (rather, God allowed us to wait) a little longer in marriage before we had kids, and I think it's because He knew this kind of perspective wouldn't have been so easy for either of us to swallow at 21. I would have been just as sad about my sick baby as I was to be missing a coffee date to LaMie today. And I would have been selfishly mad that Josh went to a movie while I was stuck at home in puky-pajamas with a puky-kid. What I would have failed to see is that Josh works longer and harder for our family than I do...honestly, that's the truth. He wants one night off out of a month to go see his favorite movie? I would be a pretty rotten wife if I didn't encourage him to go.
If I can't handle puke for a night, what kind of bad#*$ mom am I anyway??
What a beautiful, sanctifying, ridiculous, gross, challenging, rewarding job this is. I'll be honest, I'm still in pajamas as I type this at 12:42pm. Definitely not the norm around here, but I decided today was not the day to be a hero. Maverick had his post-puke bath this morning, but I have yet to make it that far, and still...I just love, love, love this calling...this job...this incredibly blessed, messy mom-life God has given me.
But seriously...I need to be done now so I can go get in the shower because I'm getting a vague odor of baby vomit when I shift the way I'm sitting. Probably a few rogue drops of puke somewhere I missed.
MmB
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