Children come with a lot of bodily fluids
Hi,
Thank you so much for the input and support. I really do hope to keep this thing going but in order to do so I need to clarify a few things. Okay, I know I don't need to, but I need to. First of all, I am not going to spend a lot of time editing. I hardly have the time to do the actual writing, so spelling errors, grammar errors and way too many commas will be present. I know some of you can't stand grammar errors but at least I know the difference between there, their and they're, right? Second, I am going to try to be completely honest and real here. I have spent way too much of my life and time worrying about what other people think about me and my opinions. I have filtered myself many times because I don't want to offend anyone or have anybody feel like I am judging them. I always play it safe but I think the world needs a bit more real life a lot less putting on a show for the internet.
That being said, I know not everyone shares all of my opinions on life, parenting, politics, food, the medical system, cussing, animals, breastfeeding, co-sleeping, kale; you get the idea. What I'm trying to say is that I am but one woman sharing her beautiful messy life with you in hopes that maybe you will relate. Just maybe you will say, "me too!" Or maybe you will roll your eyes, either way I'm so glad you are here. Truly, thank you
This is a story I forgot about when I asked what stories you all wanted to hear about so I decided to write about it first...
I can deal with poop all day long. Pee, bring it on. Blood doesn't bother me. Puss and gore are no problem. Even snot is okay if it's my own children. But vomit, vomit I can't do. I simply can not do it. Human vomit to be specific. If you are familiar with this blog then you know that I in fact do deal with cat and dog vomit all day long and while it isn't my favorite I can tolerate it.
All that being said, I am fortunate in the fact that my kids have only had one stomach bug in their whole lives. Fortunate yes, but I do have a story to go along with it.
Picture it, Salinas California 2014. It was around midnight and Caches kept sitting up in bed and swallowing hard. He wasn't fully awake and I thought it was strange but didn't think much of it until about the fourth time he did it and then promptly threw up everywhere. Thankfully most of it got on one blanket, him and myself. So I carried the screaming child, the balled up puke blanket and myself to the bathroom. I mean I didn't actually carry myself but you get the gist.
Meanwhile, how amazing would it be if we adults had giants to carry us around when we didn't feel like walking anymore? I mean, come on! Just lift your arms up and bam, relief. I'd also have the giant carry all my shit that I didn't need but insisted on bringing and all of her own things and groceries and my 2 water bottles and my doll and my piggy bank and then while she was balancing it all I'd it ask her for additional things that require two hands.
Okay back to the vomit. I put Cache in the bathtub and undressed him and myself and threw the blanket in there too. Then I wiped us down and redressed us. Amazingly enough Arlowe slept through all of this. Not amazing, Ryan did too. We go back to bed with a few old bath towels and a barf bucket and fall back to sleep. A few hours later he is up again and I catch it in the bucket, but this isn't the real story.
This is.
The next night I can tell Arlowe isn't feeling all that great. She is super fussy and wiggly in her sleep and is wanting to nurse every few minutes but is also kinda angry about nursing. She finally settles around 1am and we fall asleep. Shortly after she wakes up. I pick her up and she vomits down my shirt directly into the shelf of my nursing tank top. There is just a hot pool of vomit sloshing around in there. But she isn't done. She throws up on me again, on herself and then into my cupped hands. The whole time in between barfing she is screaming and I'm yelling at Ryan to help me. I get nothing, I mean nothing!
I am kicking him, saying his name, the baby is screaming and he is just sleeping. HOW!? He finally wakes up all aggravated and I explain what has happened and ask him to please bring me a towel. He mumbles something and stumbles out of the room. The next thing I hear is him peeing! PEEING! I'm sitting there just dripping in kryptonite and he has the audacity to pee first. And it gets better. He walks back into our room and GETS BACK INTO BED! No towel in hand, no words, just hops in and pulls up the covers like nothing ever happened. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" I yell. Acting shocked he replies nothing, I just go up to pee! Umm, no! I woke you up because Arlowe is throwing up all over me. And screaming. And I need help. And you are just standing there! And I'm pretty sure I hate you!
Finally he goes and gets the towels and just kinda tosses them in my general direction. TOSSES THEM! By this time I am wondering if I can afford a hit man on a stay at home mothers salary. Finally I empty my bra and hands into the towels before walking to the bathroom with Arlowe. Before I even leave the room he is back in bed asleep. Yeah...
Long story short everyone got cleaned up and back to bed. The next morning I questioned Ryan about it hoping for some sort of explanation or apology but apparently he has, wait for it, NO RECOLLECTION! He doesn't remember me waking him up, the puke the towels, nothing! I repeat, HOW??
Sleeping through things like this really is a super power. A super power that I definitely wish I possessed at times. But let's be honest, if we both slept like this our kids would be screwed.
And in case you are wondering I'm not still mad about it and no, you can't afford a hit man on a stay at home moms salary.
Thank you so much for the input and support. I really do hope to keep this thing going but in order to do so I need to clarify a few things. Okay, I know I don't need to, but I need to. First of all, I am not going to spend a lot of time editing. I hardly have the time to do the actual writing, so spelling errors, grammar errors and way too many commas will be present. I know some of you can't stand grammar errors but at least I know the difference between there, their and they're, right? Second, I am going to try to be completely honest and real here. I have spent way too much of my life and time worrying about what other people think about me and my opinions. I have filtered myself many times because I don't want to offend anyone or have anybody feel like I am judging them. I always play it safe but I think the world needs a bit more real life a lot less putting on a show for the internet.
That being said, I know not everyone shares all of my opinions on life, parenting, politics, food, the medical system, cussing, animals, breastfeeding, co-sleeping, kale; you get the idea. What I'm trying to say is that I am but one woman sharing her beautiful messy life with you in hopes that maybe you will relate. Just maybe you will say, "me too!" Or maybe you will roll your eyes, either way I'm so glad you are here. Truly, thank you
This is a story I forgot about when I asked what stories you all wanted to hear about so I decided to write about it first...
I can deal with poop all day long. Pee, bring it on. Blood doesn't bother me. Puss and gore are no problem. Even snot is okay if it's my own children. But vomit, vomit I can't do. I simply can not do it. Human vomit to be specific. If you are familiar with this blog then you know that I in fact do deal with cat and dog vomit all day long and while it isn't my favorite I can tolerate it.
All that being said, I am fortunate in the fact that my kids have only had one stomach bug in their whole lives. Fortunate yes, but I do have a story to go along with it.
Picture it, Salinas California 2014. It was around midnight and Caches kept sitting up in bed and swallowing hard. He wasn't fully awake and I thought it was strange but didn't think much of it until about the fourth time he did it and then promptly threw up everywhere. Thankfully most of it got on one blanket, him and myself. So I carried the screaming child, the balled up puke blanket and myself to the bathroom. I mean I didn't actually carry myself but you get the gist.
Meanwhile, how amazing would it be if we adults had giants to carry us around when we didn't feel like walking anymore? I mean, come on! Just lift your arms up and bam, relief. I'd also have the giant carry all my shit that I didn't need but insisted on bringing and all of her own things and groceries and my 2 water bottles and my doll and my piggy bank and then while she was balancing it all I'd it ask her for additional things that require two hands.
Okay back to the vomit. I put Cache in the bathtub and undressed him and myself and threw the blanket in there too. Then I wiped us down and redressed us. Amazingly enough Arlowe slept through all of this. Not amazing, Ryan did too. We go back to bed with a few old bath towels and a barf bucket and fall back to sleep. A few hours later he is up again and I catch it in the bucket, but this isn't the real story.
This is.
The next night I can tell Arlowe isn't feeling all that great. She is super fussy and wiggly in her sleep and is wanting to nurse every few minutes but is also kinda angry about nursing. She finally settles around 1am and we fall asleep. Shortly after she wakes up. I pick her up and she vomits down my shirt directly into the shelf of my nursing tank top. There is just a hot pool of vomit sloshing around in there. But she isn't done. She throws up on me again, on herself and then into my cupped hands. The whole time in between barfing she is screaming and I'm yelling at Ryan to help me. I get nothing, I mean nothing!
I am kicking him, saying his name, the baby is screaming and he is just sleeping. HOW!? He finally wakes up all aggravated and I explain what has happened and ask him to please bring me a towel. He mumbles something and stumbles out of the room. The next thing I hear is him peeing! PEEING! I'm sitting there just dripping in kryptonite and he has the audacity to pee first. And it gets better. He walks back into our room and GETS BACK INTO BED! No towel in hand, no words, just hops in and pulls up the covers like nothing ever happened. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" I yell. Acting shocked he replies nothing, I just go up to pee! Umm, no! I woke you up because Arlowe is throwing up all over me. And screaming. And I need help. And you are just standing there! And I'm pretty sure I hate you!
Finally he goes and gets the towels and just kinda tosses them in my general direction. TOSSES THEM! By this time I am wondering if I can afford a hit man on a stay at home mothers salary. Finally I empty my bra and hands into the towels before walking to the bathroom with Arlowe. Before I even leave the room he is back in bed asleep. Yeah...
Long story short everyone got cleaned up and back to bed. The next morning I questioned Ryan about it hoping for some sort of explanation or apology but apparently he has, wait for it, NO RECOLLECTION! He doesn't remember me waking him up, the puke the towels, nothing! I repeat, HOW??
Sleeping through things like this really is a super power. A super power that I definitely wish I possessed at times. But let's be honest, if we both slept like this our kids would be screwed.
And in case you are wondering I'm not still mad about it and no, you can't afford a hit man on a stay at home moms salary.
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