Gross. Gross. Gross. Peanut had her one year check up last night. So, after work, I raced to pick her up from Yia Yia and Papou's house (her Greek grandparents that watch her most of the week), strapped her into her "big girl" car seat (we installed it last week for her 1st birthday!) and headed on over to her pediatrician's office. Half way there, I hear a weird sound coming from the back seat. I turn back only to witness Sophia barfing all over herself. Like, real adult-like puke. WTF? Could she have the flu? Is she car sick? Was it something she ate?
I decided to still go to the doctor's despite the fact that she was covered in throw up. Once we arrive, I try to get her out of her car seat without getting chunks everywhere and trying really hard to avoid getting any of the pink stuff on my "nice" work clothes. Epic Fail. We head straight to the bathroom where I take off all of her clothes and gently place her under the sink. I am splashing water everywhere trying to clean her up and no matter how hard I try I cannot get the smell of barf off of her (or me for that matter) Oh well, I am sure they have seen worse. Uh. Oh. It dawns on me that since I came straight from work, I am not toting along my obnoxiously HUGE diaper bag, and oh shit- I have no back up clothes. Isn't it a rule for all moms who have toddlers to keep back up clothes in their car???? Yeah right- Guess its just one of the many “mom rules” that I am bound to break over the next 18 years.
We enter the office 30 minutes late due to horrific suburban traffic and the barf debacle. I walk into the office, holding a baby clad in only a diaper who reeks of barf, sweat dripping off my face, and puke on my cardigan. The receptionist looks at me as if to say: "Are you F'ing serious" but instead says "Your Late." Nice lady. Real Nice.
I try to explain to her what happened. I apologize profusely for being late (I am NEVER late for things) and tell her that I am concerned for Sophia and good thing today is her one year check up so the doc can take a look! She opens her mouth and says what a full time working mom who barely has time for doctor appointments does not want to hear: "Uh, sorry to say but the doctor probably won't see her today since she just got sick. You are going to have to RE-SCHEDULE." Reschedule? Uh, no. Simply not an option. I begin to assure her that "she probably just got car sick.... I mean, uh....I am sure she's fine...she has been normal all day." She goes back to talk to the doctor and comes back with good news- doc has agreed to see the peanut! Thank God.
The appointment went well. All of her vitals checked out, no signs of any virus, and Sophia is a healthy 22 pounds and 31 inches. She gives me a plastic bag and a couple of paper towels,wishing me luck and reminding me that I have to clean out a car seat full of barf before I leave. Crap. I almost forgot.
Ok, so how am I going to do this? I only have two arms, one (naked) baby, and no where to put her while I clean her car seat out. I place Sophia on my right hip, open the car door, and begin to scoop the barf out of her car seat, throwing it onto the pavement. Don't judge. I take the paper towels and put them down in the car seat so Sophia doesn't get all wet and gross from any leftover puke. As this is all unfolding, the doctor’s office staff (3 women who are moms keep in mind) stroll out and avoid looking my way. Really ladies? You are not going to help a fellow (still somewhat new) mom out? Ass holes.
We have a peaceful ride home and Sophia is happy
as a clam. It must have been some kind of fluke...
A severe t- storm is brewing and so I rush to let the Donald out before he gets wet, grab the mail, and get the car seat out of my car. I make a bottle, take peanut up to her room, get her PJ's on and slide comfortably into her glider. Ahhhhh, easily the best part of my night. Before she even has one sip from her bottle, she climbs up on me and rests her head of my shoulder. Hmmm….this is unlike her, but I like it. She stays there for a few minutes before I hear a familiar sound. Gurgle. Gurgle. Barf. Not again. Only this time it's worse. There is more of it and BOTH of us are covered this time. Head to toe. It begins to drip.... going onto the carpet and getting all over her pretty pink chair. Have I mentioned yet that I am an OCD Danny Tanner-esque neat freak?
Ok, think fast. I stand up slowly, keeping her body smashed against mine in an attempt to not allow the barf to escape onto my clean hardwood floors. We make it to the bathroom. I get her naked (again) and put her in the tub. I then take off all of my clothes because they are literally covered in puke. If someone walked in right then they would see: A frantic mom in just her skivvies leaning over a bath tub cleaning off a baby whose body (and hair) is covered in gross pink chunks and a bathroom floor with specks of fallen barf all over it. NOT A PRETTY SIGHT.
I get her all cleaned off, dressed in fresh pj's, and rock her to a peaceful state of sleepiness before putting her down in her crib. I walk out of her room praying that the thunder doesn't wake her up; it's unusually loud and has begun to down pour. It’s now 8pm and I have zero appetite, probably because I have been submerged in barf for most of my evening. So, I grab a glass of red wine (what else?) and head downstairs to watch some Real Housewives of Orange County (embarrassing I know). Now I can relax.
Oh Shit. THE DONALD.
When Costa gets home, I tell him about what a shit show night we had and how helpless, scared, and anxious I felt at times. He reminds me that this is "Parenthood" and that there are plenty more experiences where that one came from. He's right. This is (part) of what being a parent is all about. Taking care of sick babies and sometimes nutty dogs, racing to 6pm check-ups, making bottles, and having messy floors (something I am still trying to cope with). When all is said and done though, this is an experience that I will never forget, one that made me laugh, and one that brought me closer to my little peanut. Sometimes being covered in barf isn't all that bad.
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