I ran across this e-mail that I had sent to my parents in February 08. Brendan was about 19 months old at the time. It made me laugh so I thought I'd post it for you to read...
It seems that in order to be inducted into motherhood you have to be thrown up on at least once...
It seemed like a normal day... Brendan got up and had a great breakfast. Cheese omelet, half an english muffin and a quarter of a pear. He was in very good spirits as we went to the gym and I dropped him off in the Kid's Club. When I went to get him he was jumping in their jumperoo (which by the way... they probably shouldn't put him in anymore... I think he's over the weight limit...) so I pulled him out much to his dismay. He wriggled away from me as I went to retrieve his shoes and ran to the toys. I pulled him back and told him it was time to go. I sat him up on the counter to put his shoes on and he all of a sudden looked at me with this worried look on his face, coughed a couple times and then started spewing his breakfast all over himself and the floor (I'll bet you're wondering how I got any on me... I'll get to that later...) The poor guy. He's NEVER thrown up before and had no idea what was going on. He started crying and reaching for me to hold him. My heart was breaking. I love my child but not enough to hold him against me, pressing vomit into us both. So I stood there in complete shock. I had somehow, instinctively, reached my hands out as if catching the vomit would help. So I stood there with my hands full, child crying, unsure of what to do as he began vomiting once again. Every mom in there stared at me as if I had three heads and non one offered to lend a hand (OK so I guess I can't blame them entirely but... HEY... even some paper towels would do!!) I finally cleaned myself off and contemplated what to do with Brendan. Finally a mom walked in and offered to lend us an extra set of clothes. So I began stripping Brendan at the sink and wiping him down with the wipes that the same woman so kindly offered. He was crying and whining and not sure what to do but you should have seen the look he gave me when he looked down and he was dressed in PINK!! It was better than the vomit covered clothes and not a single boy in there had an extra set. So he looked down at the pink pants and the shirt that sported a large red heart and looked at me as if to say "are you SERIOUS?" I couldn't help but laugh. I was extremely grateful for the kindness of that single stranger.
So off we went. I had planned on doing my grocery shopping before heading home and desperately needed to do so. Brendan was acting much better and showed no signs of tossing any more cookies. So we shopped to our hearts content. OK I sped it up a little, afraid that he might have something left in his tummy. Got home and set him on my bed so I could take a shower. He seemed better by the minute. Clapping and dancing to the music on TV. I thought to myself as I got out of the shower "what do you do when your child throws up his breakfast? do you feed him lunch?" So I asked "hey buddy... are you hungry?" To which he replied (and signed) "eat?" So I dressed myself and sat him on the edge of the bed, seconds from picking him up as he coughed once again and spewed yet MORE breakfast onto me, himself, my bedding and the floor. I undressed him for the third time (I had IMMEDIATELY changed him out of the pink clothes the minute we got home.) And stripped myself down to my underwear. At this point I figured he needed to jump in the tub. So I carried him into the bathroom and started the water. I removed his diaper and turned my back. He ran into the hallway, stood there and smiled. I said "come on sweetheart... it's time to take a bath." But he continued to just smile as if he thought it were a game. The second I turned back to him he was peeing on the carpet!! I thought to myself "could this day get any worse?!" (I recommend NEVER thinking this to yourself as you will probably guarantee yourself a very bad day...) So I bathed him and clothed him, got myself dressed and set him on the floor in his room to play as I went to clean up the earlier mess in my bedroom. Only minutes after I had begun wiping chunks off the floor, I heard the dreadful preceding cough and then a whimper and cry. I ran into his room only to find him covered yet again in his own vomit. Fortunately by this time there was very little food left in his tummy which makes cleaning up a little easier. I wiped him with wipes and stripped him yet again and decided it was naptime (and diaper-only time sine I wasn't sure how many more times I'd be changing his clothes.) I cleaned up my room, wiping the floor, stripping the duvet from it's cover, tossing a load of laundry in, and spot cleaning my quilt and yet I couldn't shake that noxious smell. I got myself some lunch and began relaxing when half an hour later I head him screaming and crying. I took the stairs two at a time and found him sitting straight up in a puddle of stomach acid and saliva (as this was all that was left inside...) I wiped him up and plopped him down in the rocker as I stripped the bed and tossed teddy aside (poor teddy needed a bath.) When I turned around to face him he was laying down in the chair with his arms around Jeffrey. I laid him back down and covered him up, hoping we had endured the worst. Went into the computer room to research cleaning vomit out of a down duvet when not 15 minutes later I heard that dreaded cough. I ran in and cleaned him up yet again, simply turning him around in his crib since he only left a small spot this time. I figured I'd change it all again later.
I got him up from his nap, dressed him, and he so badly wanted to drink. I reluctantly gave him his cup of very diluted juice and he drank slowly but fiercely. He finished almost half the cup and as I picked him up it all came back out. Now he was on his 4th set of clothes and mommy was on her 3rd pair of jeans. Fortunately I let it all soak into my pants before any of it could get to the couch. Back to the drawing board. Only sips of juice. Which he hated. I handed him the cup, let him drink a tiny bit, then took it away. You can imagine his reaction. He screamed.
As I was preparing dinner he came to me and asked pathetically... "eat?" So I pondered what to give him that would be gentle on his stomach. I put him in his highchair with a small piece of banana and some crackers. One bite of banana and a sad look at the crackers and he was done. He just sat with his head leaned against the side of the chair, watching me make dinner. As I put the lid on the skillet and set the timer, I picked him up out of his chair so I could just hold him. Sat down on the couch and as he leaned back into me he all of a sudden retched forward and let loose the bit of banana and juice that had obviously not settled well. I resorted back to the diaper-only mode and turned up the heat. Changed into my pajamas and settled us both on the couch until daddy got home.
He was able to drink a bit more juice and ate some plain noodles last night and kept them down. But I can tell he's still not feeling 100%. He had some milk and half a waffle for breakfast. When I asked him if he wanted lunch he refused. I'm not pushing it. So I came upstairs to get on the computer expecting him to follow. After several minutes I could hear him still playing downstairs. A few minutes later I heard silence and wondered what he was up to. So I called his name and got nothing. As I got to the top of the stairs I smiled. The poor guy was so tired. He made it half way up the stairs with his little monster truck and fell asleep. Yes... asleep. He had his head laid on the stair and was fully asleep. I scooped him up and took him to his crib where he is currently sound asleep. I had to cancel myself for work today since Molly's kids are sick. But I wouldn't have wanted to take him anyway... the way he's feeling. Hopefully he'll be back to normal soon.
Anyway... the point of my story is that we need our carpet cleaner back so we can spot clean the carpets where Brendan tossed his cookies.
