Sunday, September 27, 2009

"Barf...not a song"

I heard it from my sleep. "Blah." While I prayed it was a dream, my eyes were still closed as I also debated with myself if I had enough time to run to the kitchen, grab a bucket, bowl or other deep item and get back to my 3 year old before the 2nd wave of barf came. Before my thought was completed, it was too late. I not only heard the second heave, but smelled it too.

Then the my mind hesitates what to do first?
1) Comfort the crying vomit covered child and risk having vomit on my person?
2) Hold child at a distance, de-robe him and shout for husband who'll pretend he's still asleep?
3) Turn the lights on, hoping its just liquid and not that bad so then I could cover it and go back to bed?

Well...I did none of those. Instead, I threw a towel on my shoulder, picked up my son, who turned three on this very day, and played witness to the vomit: In his hair, under his neck, on the blanket, the wall, the cat (who was already bathing herself, by the way).

Why does vomit never look like what it was when it went in? If I dare to look (and I don't, cause I will get sick as well) why does it always look like Feta?

The husband cleaned up (I offered sex for assistance) and I took my baby in the shower where I hugged him as only a mother could do when the vomit is gone.

Then he threw up on me.

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