Is it too awful to describe my first experience with baby throw up?
*waving goodbye to those of you who just checked out… but don’t miss my note at the bottom*
Okay, by “experience” I mean EXPERIENCE.
My poor, little Benny Lee. (That’s what I call him in that pathetic, I-feel-sorry-for-you voice.) He received his first vaccination on Friday. Being extra cautious about Bennett’s little (11.2lb) body having to process too much all at once, I decided to have the pediatrician split his scheduled vaccinations up so that we’re pacing ourselves a little more slowly and giving him time to manage one vaccination before moving on to the next. (They would have been willing to give him eight, with three of them combined in one shot.)
I can’t imagine what state he’d be in if I hadn’t been so overprotective; because having received just the one shot (the DTap/Hib/Polio combo), this little guy has been MISERABLE.
While I know Bennett’s still in there somewhere (he shows me glimpses here and there), I hate seeing him more lethargic, nose running, coughing, sneezing, fussing and having less of an appetite. But fever? Nope. Nada. Each symptom in and of itself is mild, but still…
Now, in order to appropriately describe this throw up experience, I’m going to have to insist that you close your eyes and imagine yourself in my shoes. (But open them every now and then to keep reading, of course).
You’re wearing your new, purple, Christmas gift, fluffy bathrobe. You’re laying on your back on the couch with your head rested on the arm of said couch. You have a stuffy, uncomfortable, adorable baby laying belly down on your chest, head to the side, mouth by your clavicle.
Ahhh, the preciousness of this moment.
A movie starring Mark Wahlberg is on the TV.
Ahh, even better.
You hear an unfamiliar noise and immediately feel wet and warm.
Now imagine. In that position and according to the law of gravity, where is milky throw up going to go?
That’s right. The vomit actually wrapped around me. First a vomit puddle developed at my clavicle and throat. But as the flood intensified, the vomit proceeded to run beyond my neck and behind my shoulders. The milk that had formerly been in Bennett’s belly was now caught by my robe and collected into a pool behind my neck. I was literally laying in vomit. A three hundred and sixty degree vomit experience.
Brian instantly jumped up as he had been on the other end of the couch.
Me: He just threw up. Help! This is real throw up!
Brian: Ew. It’s all over you. Where’d you put the towel?
Me: I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. Just grab anything!
Brian: *looking for a burp cloth* (I think we needed a beach towel.)
Me: *still stunned* This is real throw up!
Brian: *taking Bennett, sopping me up before I could stand – moving from horizontal to vertical was tricky in this moment – and realizing that I’m literally laying in a puddle of vomit* Ew. It’s on your back. I’ll take him. Go take a shower.
Me: Thank you. This is real throw up.
This is real throw up.
I don’t know how many times I said that, but I was struck by some distinguishable differences between what I had just experienced versus the little bits of spit up that I had become used to. The biggest difference was that *cringe* it smelled S.O.U.R. *shuttering*
And I was laying in it. It wasn’t just on me; it was all around me.
But mostly I was just heart broken for my poor baby. I’ll admit though, after this episode, he spent the rest of the evening being his normal, happy, sweet self.
So there you have it. I’ve been initiated.
To whom it may concern:
Beginning tomorrow, the salon is booking my schedule for my return in March! Call ASAP to get the hours that work best for you. I’m planning on a part-time return, working Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Be nice to the receptionists! They’re going to be getting some attitude on the phone when people realize I’ve cut 16 hours out of my work week and am also scheduling some inflexible breast pump breaks.