Puking

I'm not going to call it anything nicer than what it is. Puke. Projectiling on the carpet, the pets, your hair. We were lucky to miss out on scary infant vomiting illness but our luck ran out Thursday night. It was another Norman Rockwell evening at our house. The family was lying on the bed, the pets curled up next to us. We'd turned the light off and Andy was nearly asleep when I laid Caroline in his arms for a last hug. As I picked her up I noticed her belly gurgled and it wasn't a moment later that it hit me. Chunks of stinky, milky vomit all over me and the carpet. Dingo retreated as it splashed her tail and back.

I was proud of my and Andy's quick reaction to the the clean-up of the rug and room and the ensuing second bath, third crib sheet change and acceptance that the one puke chunk was just going to stay in her hair for the night.

We thought it was a fluke the next morning since she was fine but it returned again the following night. That time I caught it in mind hand! I was getting smarter! Andy and I continued to tell ourselves it was the bananas we'd fed her both nights. What fools we were. How can a parent think she herself is not going to get sick when she's worn vomit two night in a row? No- not vomit. Puke. Chunky, stinky puke in my hair, on my clothes and under my fingernails.

It recycled though the family yesterday and last night like a tsunami. At least I am a big girl and can projectile into the toilet (or the sink or a cup) and not on the floor and dog.