My kids have been sick this week. With vomit. GUH. It is seriously my most dreaded illness, especially because not all of them are able to use the toilet yet, so it becomes this violent pukefest all over the house. This time was not so bad though. Only two kids puked and it went really fast. Plus, we have escaped many, many illnesses this year, so I can't complain.
When I had my first, I was WAY worried about the puke. I had never dealt with cleaning up another human's vomit in my life. I felt totally unprepared, so, of course, I tried to arm myself. I asked my mom friends, "What do you do if they puke in the car? What do you do if they puke in the house? What do you do if they puke on the wall? What do you do if they puke on you?" By the time my first child threw up, I was armed and ready. Towels were on hand, bath was ready to go, bleach and hand sanitizer were close at hand. I found myself surprisingly calm and capable. I was mostly concerned for my poor, little baby who had no fucking clue what was happening to him and was wondering why I couldn't just make it go away. I felt so bad for the little guy. Cleaning up his mess seemed so easy.
Fast forward to two kids later. I am still prepared for every situation, weighing the odds of them all puking at the same time and trying to accept that that scenario *could* happen. Now, though, I am way less emotional. I go into robot mode. Bath, bleach, wipe. Bath, bleach, wipe. My only goal, at this point, is to get everything cleaned up so I can go to bed because it ALWAYS happens at some REFUCKINGDONKULOUS time of night when I am RIPPED from a dead sleep and TRYING to dream of a place where I am young and beautiful and no one is counting on me to make breakfast, wipe asses, or get them a GODDAMN DRINK OF WATER. Of course, once I have woken up enough to clean everything up and assure them that they will feel better soon, I can't go back to sleep! I lay there for hours, TRYING, then finally, sweet, sweet sleee...BLAAAAARRRRGH! More vomit. It is no use trying to get rest. It becomes a vicious cycle of bleaching, insomnia, stage 1 sleep, VOMIT
The worst time I remember was after my third was born, but was still a baby and sleeping in my bed. I was nursing her most of the night, so I was already exhausted. Suddenly, the Black Plague ripped through our house. It felt like it lasted forever. First one got sick with vomit. Then diarrhea. By then, the second was puking, so I was dealing with one puker and one shitter. Puke, shit, puke, shit. Then, the third started puking, but neither of the other two were over the shits. Puke, shit, shit, puke. Puke, shit, shit, puke. It was a fucking nightmare. I was exhausted. I actually wished for death, many, many times. The puking and shitting was something out of horror movies. I had been cleaning up puke and shit FOREVER. Then, one night, when I was near my end, I went to help my young daughter in the bathroom, shit everywhere. I was calm while I cleaned her up. I offered encouraging words, kissed her on her head, and got her ready to go back to bed. I pushed the hair out of my face and went to the sink to wash my hands. As I looked in the mirror, I was stunned. I had poop in my hair. Actual poop. POOP!! And right in that moment, I didn't freak out, I didn't cry, I didn't jump as quickly as I could into the shower (shortly after though). Right at that moment, it hit me. This is me. A mom. This is my job. It won't last forever, but right now, there is no time for vanity, there is no time for anger, and there is no time for FREAKING THE FUCK OUT BECAUSE THERE IS POOP IN MY HAIR. What it is time for is rolling with the punches and being able to laugh that shit off.
So, in closing, I had poop in my muthafucking hair. That is all.
awesome.
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