…I'm a mom!
Okay, if you're going to get all technical on me, I have been a mom for 11 months…20 if you count pregnancy.
But last night it happened. I was christened into motherhood. Because last night Blythe threw up.
Now, before you get all "I can't believe you're writing about YOU when it was YOUR DAUGHTER that THREW UP you are a HORRIBLE mother…", let me tell you that she simply gagged on a piece [or five pieces she had rapidly shoved in her nearly toothless mouth] of cheese, which caused the naturally reaction of, well, IT.
If you don't know this by now, I DO NOT DO PUKE. [It was on my list of "things you MUST cover with students on the first day of school": If you are going to throw up- GET THE HECK OUT OF THIS ROOM. I wrote a little about this one HERE. ] When we were both at home, if Kali had "gotten sick" I wouldn't even LOOK at her for days in case there was a slight possibility it may happen again at the exact moment I chose to glance her way. And now that I'm married, any time Brent has gotten sick I have to turn on a million fans just to drown out the slim possibility I may hear any noise coming from the bathroom. It's terrible, I know.
I knew this day would come. I knew Blythe would throw up at some point. And I'm not talking little baby spit up stuff. I can handle that.
But tonight when it happened…I felt like I finally leaped across the Grand Canyon into official motherhood.
We were sitting at the table, talking about how awesome THIS jalapeno popper chicken that I made was, Blythe perched in her high chair next to us. She had already eaten some pureed peas and peaches, and was now having a little turkey and cheese. She cough/gagged a bit, so I instinctively propped her up a bit more, and that's when IT happened.
I saw frozen in time for a solid five seconds. The worst part was, I had a bite of chicken in my mouth that I knew I had to will myself to swallow. I looked over at Brent, who flipped into super-daddy mode which, thankfully, unfroze me. I walked to the sink, trying to figure out what to do, while Brent says, "What's the plan of action here?" I tossed him a roll of paper towels and told him to get her in the bathtub! I had to help wipe her down a bit and then they were off.
I grabbed the paper towels and the clorox spray and tried to get the worst of it while averting my eyes [and by "worst of it" I mean, it really just looked like pureed peaches…but I knew it wasn't…and I couldn't trick my mind]. The entire roll of paper towels later [I think it was only half a roll to start with!], the kitchen smelled like bleach and Blythe was out of the tub, in her jammies, and smelling like Johnson and Johnson [Bless you, Brent].
I know it could have been…and someday soon probably will be…much worse. It could have happened while she was sitting on my lap at a crowded basketball game Saturday. Or in church. Or in her car seat. On the couch. Or in her bed. Or basically anywhere else. And she could have really been sick, and not just a gag reflex. Or Brent could have been at work.
So I will focus on the positive and realize that now I am truly a mom [or do I have to wait until she does IT on me to get that badge of honor?].
and really…I don't need to hear your stories in the comment section…I don't think I can stomach any at the moment.