**Warning*** Today's post is filled with language of a graphic nature, and might cause spontaneous barfing. Reader discretion is advised. ***Warning***
Of the many things that I have gained as a result of being a mother... you know, wisdom, patience (ha!), some extra pounds, etc...... there is one thing that I simply can't *do* as a mother. I just CANNOT deal with barf. Puke. Upchuck. Vomit.
Whichever charming term its given, the fact remains that I am completely incapacitated by it. It's my kryptonite (yes, that and box tops, Sarah!!) And it never fails that it occurs in the middle of the night, right when I'm having a really great dream about Javier the pool boy (refer to Frog Butts blog). And last night was no exception...
A child will materialize next to our bed, with words to strike terror in your heart... "I threw up..." You sit up, ready to administer love and comfort, and while simultaneously placing your hand on their forehead to check for fever, you whisper the question, so hopefully... "Where, sweetie? In the toilet?"
But nope... of course the answer is always..... "In my bed." So begins the post-puke ritual of stripping the sheets, scraping the chunks (I warned you!), and bathing the child. Of course, there is the teeth brushing that follows, the sleeping bag placed on top of the bed (um, you didn't seriously think I'm taking the time to put new sheets on at 2:30 a.m., did you?!), and the cleaning of the carpet. (Oh yes... its never contained to just the bed! duh!)
And, if I was a good wife, I would just soldier on, and do this without waking my husband. But I just can't. I can't do it. I have tried, and it always turns out badly. Of course, I can usually make it to the toilet!
Now in my defense, I was the diaper queen... give me a disgusting diaper, and it doesn't faze me one whit. Poop running down a leg? Mommy's got it covered.... don't you worry. Phil would blanch at the sight of raisins in the diaper... but for this mom, it was all in a day's work.
So, in our personal puke patrol, we have a pretty good division of labor. Its a two man job, but we make it work. Phil deals with the sheets, carpet, etc. and I take care of the child. Giving baths, giving hugs, tucking back in, (and of course, you can't forget the all important trash can next to the bed!! Have we learned nothing?)
And honestly, I guess that's the way it should be. Because as we all know, when you don't feel good, all you want is your Mommy, anyway. Even if she's holding her breath. ;-)
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- The fumes almost killed me...
- Solid Gold
- BLT battle
- In the mood for food
- Out of the mouths of babes
- Yak's milk...
- Let the bashing continue...
- This system sucks...
- "And now, a word from our sponsors..."
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- Keep 'em off the pole...
- Kickin' it into high gear...
- A bedtime story
- "With love..."
- Suburban moms with 'Tats'....
- How to build a better blog...
- Consider yourself warned...
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- Eight years ago...
- My kid, the comedian...
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