Today I got up a bit earlier than normal. BabyN has a check-up this afternoon, right after lunch, and I wanted to make sure he got two meals in before his official weigh-in. He’s been having lunch in the middle of the afternoon while PJ naps, which is definitely too late to happen before his appointment. My only solution was to get up a bit earlier and feed him solids earlier in the morning so that he could be ready for a second meal at a normal lunchtime.
Well, the stupid dog decided she also needed to get up and eat earlier than usual, a good hour before BabyN was awake and ready to eat. It turned out that I was forced to get up much earlier than normal after all, which we all know tends to make me a bit cranky (or totally insane).
Once BabyN was awake, things went pretty much as I expected–at first. I had to leave PJ in his room awake for a few minutes so that I could quickly feed BabyN and shower (I still can’t shower while PJ is running around the house; he will end up hurting himself or destroying something without that supervision). He was happy, though, and I knew neither task would take long, so I reluctantly decided that was my best course of action.
BabyN ate well and fast, even though he spent part of feeding time refusing to swallow, which is his new favorite eating game. It’s so annoying. Anyway, I cleaned him up and started gathering a few toys for him to play with in the bathroom while I showered and then started lugging it all into the other room while holding him with the other arm.
All of a sudden, without any warning whatsoever, my living room turned into a scene from Poltergeist. There was vomit spewing out of his mouth all over both of us and the carpet for what seemed like an eternity. It just kept coming.
When it finally ended, I just stood there stunned and disgusted for a few seconds before I could get my brain to process what had just happened and decide what I needed to do next. I’m clearly unaccustomed to dealing with situations like this.
Eventually I decided to set him down on the floor while I rinshed off my hands and arms; I didn’t want to spread it any farther than it had already gone. Then I grabbed some paper towels to get the majority of it off BabyN and put the dog out. Yeah, I’m pretty proud of myself for thinking of that one. I had a picture flash across my mind of the dog licking all of it up. While I might have welcomed the help, that’s just too disgusting to witness.
I stripped him, cleaned him, and then attacked the splattered mess on the carpet and wall. I was forced to do a quickie job because he was screaming bloody murder the whole time. It was obvious the whole thing scared him a bit and was clearly uncomfortable. (By the way, I never realized that having a cat during my single years would help with this whole parenting business. I’m so used to cleaning bodily functions off the carpet that the vomit didn’t even disgust me. It was just another stain.)
Then it was bathtime for the boy. Again. He’d just had one last night so he’d be clean for the dr. appointment today, but obviously he was in need of one again. How exactly do you get vomit in your hair when you’re not lying down when it happens? I still had spots on my clothes as well, but I knew they’d have to wait. Fortunately the bath also calmed him down.
About the time I finally stepped into the shower myself, PJ started screaming from the other room. If I hadn’t been covered in vomit, I might have just given up on cleaning myself and gotten him up, but I couldn’t handle going to the doctor’s office reeking of regurgitated banana. So I took the fastest shower ever while feeling guilty that he was screaming from the other room.
Finally, a good forty-five minutes after I’d intended to get him up, I was able to get PJ out of bed. He has obviously forgiven me and is fine, but I feel kind of guilty for how the circumstances worked out this morning. He got the short end of the deal.
Oh, and BabyN is apparently fine now. He ate a little more banana with PJ’s breakfast and seems happy again. I’m hoping he keeps lunch down well too so that he’ll be a little heavier for his weigh-in this afternoon. And I guess I can explain away his lower weight either way by this morning’s horrific experience.
Where was my friend who was supposed to come spend the night last night during all of this, you wonder? (We’ll pretend you wondered anyway.) She called and bailed on me yesterday afternoon. I was too disappointed to write about it yesterday. I was more disappointed in myself, though. I’d let myself get my hopes up that she would follow through with our plans even though I know her tendency to bail. I’m okay today, but boy did I wish I had some help this morning.