Well, there was vomit. A lot of vomit, but thankfully, just once. I had had the bright idea of taking Wrenn to hang out with my parents on Sunday night while Mr. Right had a board meeting. Just us girls, you know. We loaded up in the car, Wrenn in her brand-new car seat, so brand-new that it still had that new car smell.
Well, it doesn’t have that new car smell anymore, because as I exited the highway for my parents’ house, Wrenn started coughing, and then making a choking sound, and then vomiting. And vomiting. And vomiting. I pulled over because I couldn’t tell if she was still choking, and the vomit kept coming. Poor baby girl, covered. Car seat, covered. Everything, covered. We were just a few minutes from my parents’ house so I grabbed a quilt and covered her up, rolled down the windows, and sped to their house, where my mom met me in the driveway with wet towels and a plastic trash bag.
Sometimes, as a grown-up, do you have those moments when you wish you weren’t a grown-up, so someone else could do the unwanted grown-up task at hand? At that moment, I wished for someone else to clean up ALL THE VOMIT for me, but, well, now I’m the mama and it was my job to save the day, to comfort my poor child and figure out what to do next.
I stripped Wrenn down in the driveway, got as much vomit as I could out of the car seat, and then, because I wasn’t sure if this was a one-time thing or the beginnings of a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad stomach bug, I loaded her back up in that car seat and headed back home. Thirty minutes in the vomit-filled car, with the windows rolled down, praying that Little Miss wouldn’t vomit again. From the look on her face, I wasn’t sure, but I did know that it would be better if we were back in our own home instead of in someone else’s home. It’s always better to be sick in your own home, am I right?
We made it to the house without any more vomit, and I pulled my poor little girl out of that nasty car seat and took her straight to the bathtub. As I was running her bath, filled with pity as I looked at my poor child… she started dancing. Lots of dancing (it’s her favorite thing these days) and then I knew that she was going to be okay. I still had a lot of vomit to clean up (ugh) but my baby doll was going to be okay. So in this instance, I won. Praise Jesus for a healthy child. And that a five-minute bath can leave her smelling like fresh baby again.
It took me all day to take apart the brand-new car seat, wash some parts and scrub others down with bleach wipes, then wash all of the loads of vomit-touched laundry. I was worried there might be a lingering smell in my car, so I left my windows open all night. And it rained. So the smell of mildew masks any other smells I had worried about. So, there’s that.
I want to remember this, not because I want to complain, but because I’m pretty darn proud of myself. I’m the girl who has been terrified of vomit her whole life. Blood, throw up, bodily fluids of any sort turn my legs to jell-o. I can’t handle it. But now I’m a mama and somehow I’ve become brave, able to handle any nastiness you throw my way. And besides, my baby felt like dancing. And so I’m happy.
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