Wednesday, December 06, 2006


I put Zac to bed last night right before 8pm. He had vomitted once in the backseat of my Dad's car on the way home from dinner, but otherwise seemed just fine. The noxious gas from his diaper was powerful, yet no actual poop was coming out. I cleaned him up and put him to bed without further ado.

Around 11:45pm, I hear him coughing. Then I hear nothing and then, the tell-tale crying. I walk in and find him sitting up in his crib next to even more vomit. It was all over his stuffed rabit and the homemade blanket, all over his sheets and all over him. I picked him up, took off his pajamas, changed his diaper, and did what any self-respecting single Mom who had to get up early the next morning to go to a meeting would do: I let him sleep next to me and promised myself that I would clean his sheets tomorrow.

At 12:30am, (Oh - should I even finish this story? Can you see where this is all going? Hasn't my child been degraded enough by my broadcast of his illness and the subsequent bodily fluids? Answer: Nope) I feel a very warm splash of liquid and chunky parts hit my head. He had sat up from his pillow next to me, turned, and vomitted - ON ME. After the initial splash, I tried to encourage him to only puke on his pillow, but directing a child's puke is like trying to catch mist - you can't do it.

The funny thing (because afterall, if I didn't find humor in it, I would have to revoke my mothering qualifications, of which I have none, and it was my fault - sort of - for letting a sick child sleep in bed with me) was that he wasn't completely awake when he puked. When I stripped him naked and put his puky ass in the bathtub, he freaked the fuck out. Apparently, luke warm water is not a relaxing way to wake up after spewing the contents of your stomach on your primary caregiver.

Back into bed, for both of us. I had to put a towel down on the bed and use a pillow from the other room. At 6:15am, I encountered all of the vomit-splattered clothing and household objects with the fresh perspective of the morning. My stomach pitched and heaved in response. I've been feeling queesy all morning. I'm not sure if I have what Zac has or if being that close to vomit that isn't mine has made my stomach second guess actually digesting food.

The good news (and I have to find some with a week like this) is that Zac vomitting on me made Mr. Tugboat's actions slightly more bearable. He stood me up for an office party and then broke up with me over the phone, saying that we want different things from life and that's he's going to have a vasectomy. I realized that I would have been much angrier at him if he had puked on me and then told me that he really sees me as more of a friend. It wouldn't have been funny at all, just more tragic.

It also made me realize exactly how much I love my son, puke and all.


jenna said...

wwwwhhaaaaaa???? wtf is wrong with mr. tugboat? that's f-ed up, my friend. his loss. his very big, mistakenly huge, terrible judgement, i hope he wakes up in a month lonely and regretful, LOSS.

Ali said...

Bye bye Mr. Tugboat! Please let the door hit you where the good Lord split you. Sheesh. That sucks, I know, but of course you know you can do better! Right?

And poor Zac! Where is he today? Did you get to work? Is your boss still being weird about taking the time off?

Pregnant In Texas said...

Zac apparently holds down his food at daycare and lets it fly when he's at home with me. He's been fine there for the past two days. I've been a bad Mom, cowering in driveway of the daycare, hoping no one will notice that I'm dropping my very sick kid off because I have to go to work.

My Mom just took Zac to the doctor. He's fine. Not dehydrated and even smiled at the Good Doc. She requested that he stay out of daycare for the next two days.

I'm requesting that he never again leave daycare because he doesn't vomit there (as much)

-P said...

Good grief. What a week, B. My 'your darkest hour is only 60 minutes long' line doesn't even work! I'd have to say your darkest week is only... 10,080 minutes long. Ugh. You'll get through it. In the meantime, forget about Tugboat (@#%$%^&#!), and try not to puke on Z. And get thee to a boob doctor!

Xoxoxoox, pulling for you!!!

Sarcastic said...


I hope they make that vasectomy cut a little bit deeper.

You need a MAN, sweetie, one who treats you well.

CruiserMel said...

Awww, you are having such a hard time. Geez. So wrong. I'm so sorry about Mr. Tugboat. He probably couldn't handle a toddler throwing up on his head, so f him.

And Zac. Poor little thing. Feeling awful AND having to take a bath in the wee hours. Waaaaaaa.

And let me just say - if ever I need to puke..... no, actually I'm hoping I never have to puke. Nevermind.