Friday, January 6, 2012

Sweetie and Head Spinning

Little woke up gagging a bit around 4am and spit out 2 small pieces of cooked carrot (after the bacon incident last week I figured it was something he'd hidden away in his cheek)... he was agitated and awake ~it was 4am, his fav wake up time~ I poured him a milk cup, we put in Toy Story & snuggled up on the couch. Five minutes after sucking down 8oz of milk; Little turns into my chest, locks his arms around me and smiles - upturned lips exposed on either side of his nuk (we call it a 'soothie'). "What a Sweetie you are," I say ~ just as his body convulses and I am sprayed with still cold, yet curdled milk vomit.


Les Paul came right out of the bedroom, after only two shouts.  It is common knowledge here that I have been having back pain so he dutifully got down and started cleaning up the chunks.  I went to assess the vomit on me and Little- it was BAD.  I changed my clothing, changed Little, sink scrubbed him up and washed my hands - scooping Little into my arms and returning to the living room, I knew in an instant that I needed to 'properly' clean the vomit. I excused Les Paul to hold Little while I got down and scrubbed the floor with the spray cleaner, hot water and towels (versus the dry paper towel Les thought would do the job). 

I was scrubbing about four minutes when Les pipes up from the loveseat (sofa was full of vomit) with a sort of cheerful, "Your back must be feeling better. You are down there scrubbing the carpet." 

I am pretty certain my head spun a full 180degrees as the words erupted from me in a guttural growl, accompanied by flames and punctuated with a forked tongue - "No, my back doesn't feel better - I don't have a choice but to scrub vomit out of the carpet!"  As my head creaked back into its rightful position - I felt a pang of guilt for snapping at him; he has been suffering a head cold as of late and too had restless sleep BUT I wasn't going to apologize for being in Full-Mom-Mode. 

Full-Mom-Mode is how man-kind survives - we wouldn't procreate if we didn't have FMM to get us through labor and delivery (and sleepless nights, feedings, the two stage, non-stop chatter stage, non-stop question stage, nose bleeds, ER trips, the tween years, the teen years, etc...).  FMM gets the vomit out of the carpet, couch and kids at 4:30am. 

Maybe I will apologize to Les in the morning, maybe.

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