It occurred to me that I gush over Roman a lot on this blog. I write about how much happiness he brings me, how cute he is, and the sweet little things he does (the latest heart-melting thing: he wriggles onto my lap, lays his head on my chest and gives a little contented sigh). But there are a lot of challenging, frustrating, and downright disgusting things he brings to my life as well. The latest case in point: he vomited on me three times Monday night. Yep. It was awful.
The little one caught some kind of stomach bug and all Monday evening, he was clutching his tummy and grimacing in pain. We didn't know what to do for him and we figured that putting him to bed early would be the best thing. Contrary to habit, he didn't fight us and that should have been a warning sign that he was feeling really bad. Less than twenty minutes after I put him down, he started crying for me so I went in and picked him up. No sooner had I pulled him onto the bed with me than he started hurling all over the both of us and all over my bed. I just stood there, totally covered in vomit and shouting for the Professor who came running. At that moment, I instantly remembered a piece of advice from my dear aunt who warned me what to do in this kind of situation. She told me that if your kid ever barfs on you, don't try to take your clothes off because pulling a shirt over your head that's covered in barf is the worst thing possible. Just get in the shower with your kid with your clothes on. So that's what I did while the Professor cleaned up the mess.
It doesn't seem like it could get worse than that, right? But Roman threw up another four times that night and nobody got any sleep. I spent the night spoon feeding him chamomile tea and doing laundry while the Professor held him and watched Finding Nemo for the hundredth time (I love that little fish. He's the only thing that made Roman stop crying). After vomit number 4, we finally got wise and put trash bags over the entire sofa and then covered the bags with blankets (see photo above).
Thankfully, our little one is a hundred percent better. The doctor said that it's just gastroenteritis and all we can do is feed him a bland diet and let him relax for a few days so his stomach can settle. My house is back to normal too. The couch cushions have been debagged, all the bed linens plus four sets of pajamas have been washed, and there is no smell of sick anywhere anymore. Hallelujah!
So just in case you thought it was all giggles and cuddles over here, it's really not. But horrible nights like this one make me so grateful for all of the wonderful ones we've had and hopefully will continue to have in the future. You know, the ones with no vomit.
P.S. For another 'keeping it real' post, check out this old one.