Where to even begin.
Well first, I will let my readers know (all 2 and 1/2 of you) that I was victorious in getting Kim Kardashian out of my head and back into E! or where ever the hell she dwells. I guess seeing the likes of Ray J was a little too much. (Evil smile here!!!)
Last night, I was dreaming heavy. As it should be, Gus was in the process of rescuing me from God knows what or maybe Al Quieda when all of a sudden something hits my face. At first, it was apart of my dream. I thought I was hit with shrapnel. Again, these are the dreams that I have been missing. Even though I was asleep, I still put my hand to my face. Liquidy lumpy stuff. Is that my blood?
Then I heard a pitched cry. Ryan, who was sleeping next to me was crying. And apparently throwing up. The stench hit me. Strong. The smell slapped me in the face making me bolt up in bed. And literally, the substance had hit me in the face. Its pitched black in my room and I feel around for Ryan and my hand land in his throw up. It on his pillow and on the sheet that covers the mattress. I almost heave my self. It’s smells like old milk. I heave again!
And there he sat on his pillow in the middle of bed crying and throwing up. I immediately with one eye still stuck together jump out of bed. Well I was actually tangled in the sheets so I fell out and hit my head on the stand.
He is still throwing up. So I pull him out holding him like the way you hold a stinky dirty gym sock but with both hands cause he is a big boy! I figured I have about 2.8 seconds to get him into the bathroom before the next heave. It’s 1:45am and that explains my miscalculation. It was actually 1.5 seconds and he heaved and with great aim hits me on my pj pant. My son the future QB of Texas Longhorns.
So I put him on a towel in the bathroom. He is done throwing up. Figures! I have it all over me so I take off my clothes. He is crying. I tell him to disrobe. He can take off his clothes but he can’t run to the bathroom. Ok ok he is only 1 years old.
I am still very confused and now angry cause I can’t stop heaving. A certain truth: I am the official vomit cleaner upper. Even after three kids, I still can’t handle smelling it, touching it, cleaning it and especially seeing it. Hell I can’t even see anyone go through the motion of throwing up. I start myself. So confused and angry, I get Lysol and start Lysoling away the sheets. Then it dawns on me, this is not gonna work.
Blonde moment at 2 am!
So I take all the sheets and his pillow and put them in the wash. I make the bed up real quick. I smell it everywhere and that makes me even more mad. It’s on my arms, my hands and even after washing I still smell it. Rawwllll …. I am heaving at work now!
I am muttering out loud. Who knows what I saying in the moment. Something like I can’t believe you threw up. No more milk for you. Why is it so lumpy? You know motherly bitching.
Once I get the bed ready and myself clean. I head over to the bathroom where Ryan is. He is standing , silently crying, in only his diaper. Actually shivering. Seeing this little guy in his diaper and socks only … well it breaks my heart.
“Come here you stinky guy.”
He hugs me. He pouts and works his magic eyes and look on me. How can I be at this little guy? He is my baby boy. You can puke on me any day. Wait no scratch that. Lets wait a while before the next throw up. Like when you turn 19 and you’re in your college dorm 3000 miles away.
I wiped us down with wipes as best as possible. Cleaned his mouth and his hair. This kid! Then we got into bed and cuddled. Smelling like old sour milk.