Sunday
Jun282009
The Urge to Catch Vomit (by whatever means necessary)
Sunday, June 28, 2009 at 7:00PM
We've been blessed with a healthy kid. In his almost three years he's rarely been sick. He had RSV when about five months old. Pneumonia when he was about 18-20 months. And there was the re-circumcision (want my opinion on circumcision? email me. )
Until Friday, we hadn't been to the ped since ... last fall (I think) when I decided just to take him in because The Boy had been coughing for several weeks and I figured we'd get him looked at. (Plus I have a mommy-crush on his ped.) He was fine. Until last Monday.
Last Monday we had some serious vomit. Copious amounts of vomit. Arriving home from day care he's been complaining of a head ache and generally looked a bit peeked. Fortunately we made it home, cause vomit in a hot car is reason to total it. (Ever tried to get that stench out? After a Houston summer?). He kept it together until I set him down inside the kitchen door, then just erupted.
This is the first thing I'm never prepared for with kids and their vomit. It's just comes out. There is no apparent heaving, no pretense, no prelude. He opens his mouth and out it comes - in this case, in alarming quantity. What is more alarming to me is my reaction.
Until I had a kid- every other time I encountered vomit in my life, including my own, my knee-jerk reaction is to get as far from it as possible as quickly as possible. Flying in the face of reason and logic, I had heard about the mommy "vomit catching" phenomena before I had kids, - I really didn't believe it. No kid was going to change my natural urge to flee from vomit. Right? Wrong. When The Boy started hurling I reacted unlike any sane person, I picked The Boy up facing me, let him vomit onto my chest (which is a remarkably good vomit catcher when wearing a shirt and bra) and rushed him to the bathtub where he proceeded to continue vomiting quantities only Linda Blair could compete with. Guess what? Other than the initial spill onto the kitchen floor, not a single drop got anywhere but on me between the kitchen and the tub. Ha! Super Mom.
The Boy is hysterical, I'm covered in vomit. And what do I do? Calm him down, get him washed up ... then calmly remove my clothes to find buckets of vomit under my shirt, in my bra ... running down my belly into my pants (thank you gravity). I have never worn that much of my own vomit (not that I can remember from childhood or college) much less anyone else's. Ick. Ick. Ick. And yet, it was the most natural thing in the world. It calmed him down and contained the mess. Double win. I promptly showered.
I thought about taking pictures, but that would be gross.
Until Friday, we hadn't been to the ped since ... last fall (I think) when I decided just to take him in because The Boy had been coughing for several weeks and I figured we'd get him looked at. (Plus I have a mommy-crush on his ped.) He was fine. Until last Monday.
Last Monday we had some serious vomit. Copious amounts of vomit. Arriving home from day care he's been complaining of a head ache and generally looked a bit peeked. Fortunately we made it home, cause vomit in a hot car is reason to total it. (Ever tried to get that stench out? After a Houston summer?). He kept it together until I set him down inside the kitchen door, then just erupted.
This is the first thing I'm never prepared for with kids and their vomit. It's just comes out. There is no apparent heaving, no pretense, no prelude. He opens his mouth and out it comes - in this case, in alarming quantity. What is more alarming to me is my reaction.
Until I had a kid- every other time I encountered vomit in my life, including my own, my knee-jerk reaction is to get as far from it as possible as quickly as possible. Flying in the face of reason and logic, I had heard about the mommy "vomit catching" phenomena before I had kids, - I really didn't believe it. No kid was going to change my natural urge to flee from vomit. Right? Wrong. When The Boy started hurling I reacted unlike any sane person, I picked The Boy up facing me, let him vomit onto my chest (which is a remarkably good vomit catcher when wearing a shirt and bra) and rushed him to the bathtub where he proceeded to continue vomiting quantities only Linda Blair could compete with. Guess what? Other than the initial spill onto the kitchen floor, not a single drop got anywhere but on me between the kitchen and the tub. Ha! Super Mom.
The Boy is hysterical, I'm covered in vomit. And what do I do? Calm him down, get him washed up ... then calmly remove my clothes to find buckets of vomit under my shirt, in my bra ... running down my belly into my pants (thank you gravity). I have never worn that much of my own vomit (not that I can remember from childhood or college) much less anyone else's. Ick. Ick. Ick. And yet, it was the most natural thing in the world. It calmed him down and contained the mess. Double win. I promptly showered.
I thought about taking pictures, but that would be gross.
Reader Comments (1)
Gross, yes, but oddly I'd have liked to have seen. I'm imagining gallons.