Pukey Kids. Not a metaphor but a literal pukish nightmare. That was K last Sunday (but Daddy SK got that covered, phew) and Z on Monday (which I had to deal with). Whoa… nothing could stay down! Not cereal, not bread, not breastmilk. Least of all breastmilk. I tried 3 times and he merlioned 3 times on me!
So after the first time, I was in total shock as he puked up all over. *I held him away from me as best as I could but the projectile still managed to reach me and my sheets and my bed. I bathed him, stripped off the sheets, had a bath, cleaned up the mess, scrubbed his and my clothes, then he wailed. So I thought he was hungry. Tried to feed him again. Repeat reading from *. **** It was horrifying. By the third time, I was just repeating to myself, “I’m your mother. I love you. Tho you puke on me. I love you.” That wasn’t a declaration of love. It was a reminder of why I’m doing this.
But I had a game plan by the third time. I haven’t actually tried it, thank God, he stopped puking. But if I remember to follow my plan next time, it should work. I figured my mistake was holding him away from me when he starts retching. Instead, I should hug him close, just take the vomit
like a man like a good mother (self-sacrificial and all…), jump out of bed asap and well.. just clean up the floor. And then bathe. That’s a whole lot easier than cleaning up the cumbersome sheets, protector and mattress.
I feel like a martyr. Just like a good soldier who throws himself on an exploding grenade to save his teammates!
*Gasp* I am… CAPTAIN AMERICA!