It's Official

I have never been good with puke. (What a great way to start, eh?) I have only thrown up 3 times in my life, twice while pregnant and once when I had a really bad case of the flu. That is not to say that I have rarely been sick. On the contrary, my immune system sucks. When I was little, getting bronchitis was as commonplace as say, getting the sniffles. At the age of 6 or 7 I stayed at the hospital to have allergy testing done. A lovely nurse would come in each morning, and prick my roommate and I's arms several times with various needles, and come back later to see if we had a reaction to any. One morning we stole a rolling bed (name for these escapes me), and barricaded the door. The nurse begged and pleaded for us to let her in, as we jumped on our beds, singing "Nyah, nyah!" Anyway, they found I was allergic to cats, milk, dust, down feathers, and certain flowers. I started getting weekly allergy shots, which I got for several years.

When I started working in daycares and preschools, I would always let the other teachers know upfront, "I'm not good with puke. If a child throws up, I won't be much help". Once, while working as a head start teacher, I was given van duty, which just meant that you go along with the van driver to take some of the kids home, and you are responsible for getting them out of their seats and off the van. I was sitting near the back with "my boyfriend" (one of the 4 yr old boys decided that was his title), when a little girl started projectile vomiting with such force I thought she would blow out a window. I did what any good van driver's assistant would do. I sat there in shock, muttering, "Ohmygod", trying not to gag. The driver calmly pulled the van over, got out paper towels, and started cleaning the girl up, all while leading the kids in a round of "The Wheels on the Bus"! Not one of my proudest moments.

I knew when I had a child of my own, there would be no one to turn to and explain, "I'm not good with puke. It's all you". I knew I would have to deal with it. I knew when the moment came that I calmly and efficiently cleaned up my child's puke, that it would be official. I would truly have no doubt that I am indeed a mom, with a capital M. That moment came this morning.

Yesterday, when I gave Dylan his first bottle of the day, and he shunned it after a mere 2 ounces, I thought something couldn't be right. My son loves his bottle, and he hasn't left a drop in one since he was about 2 weeks old. Later, when he crawled over to me, and put his head on my lap, snuggling into me, I KNEW something wasn't right. He is not an affectionate child. He already looks at me in disgust if I kiss him in public, and he does not give out hugs or kisses, no matter how much I beg. He was affectionate all day, and while I was loving every minute of it, I knew I was in trouble. Sure enough, he had diarrea all day, and he threw up a small amount during dinner last night. Jim had the honor of cleaning that up.

This morning he slept 2 hours longer than he usually sleeps, so when he made the slightest noise, I rushed in. I felt like the worst mother in the universe, because there he was covered, and I mean covered in puke. The crib sheet was covered, the bumper pad was covered, his clothes were covered, his helmet was covered, and his hair was covered. I didn't hear him throw up on the monitor, and I called Jim at work and asked if he had heard anything, and he didn't. We have no way of knowing how long he lay there in it, but jeez, I hope it wasn't long. The smell hit me the minute I opened the door, and that is always the hardest part for me. I have a very sensitive nose - it is the one sense I have that works well - sight and hearing is a different story.

I admit, I did mutter "Ohmygod", and my stomach felt like a fleet of Riverdancers doing a jig, but I immediately and efficiently cleaned it all up, giving my son the proper amount of love and sympathy, instead of shunning him for his germiness. I am officially a Mom, and I can do ANYTHING.