You know that you are in trouble when it is “one of those days” by about an hour and a half into the night before.
Let me back up and start by saying, “Yay, Steelers!” Not that I give a flying flip about football in general. The thing is, Noah’s birthmom is a HUGE Steelers fan. We’re talking jerseys and buffalo wings for the regular season games. I have no doubt that last night was one heck of a celebration around her place. So I watched and I rooted because I wanted her to get that win. And, I must say, it was quite the nail biter.
And, of course, they had that special episode of The Office right after the Super Bowl. And really, even after recovering from several minutes of near tear-inducing laughter when Dwight cut off the CPR dummy’s face and did a Silence of the Lambs impersonation (not that I’ve actually ever seen that movies), well, I was hooked.
All this to say that it was past midnight when I finally went to bed.
About an hour and a half later, I heard the sound of one of my children crying. I went back to check, and found that he had had an accident in his sleep. Hunt down fresh pajamas. Strip the bed. Help him get dressed. Find a clean blanket. Back to sleep.
Or, at least, he got back to sleep. I was almost there when the fat dog decided that it was time to go out for an evening constitutional. I let her out. I read blogs. The stupid dog wasn’t coming back (all the more worrisome today as I watched what appeared to be two coyotes discussing their zodiac signs and exchanging digits in the field behind our yard–in broad daylight). Hunt down shoes. Hunt down the fat dog. Mumble incoherently as I try to thaw enough to fall back to sleep. Eventually, I did.
Around four o’clock, I was awakened by a soft call of “Mommy!” followed by a belch. I’m talking about the kind of belch the heralds the impending blowing of chunks. Not the sound you want to hear from someone standing directly over you.
As I quickly sat up and backed away, I managed to yell something along the lines of gotothebathroomgotothebathroomgotothebathroom! And then, being the loving mommy that I am, I stayed put, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and waiting for the gag, splatter, flush sounds that would indicate the perfect timing to head back and be supportive. Go ahead, judge me if you must, but while the morning sickness may go away during the first trimester, the insane gag reflex does not. Just ask Sean. I could be emptying my stomach of the contents of the past three days and he wouldn’t even come back to check on me. He would just assume I was brushing my teeth (the cause of me finding out the other day–most unfortunately–what orange juice and chocolate chip waffles taste like mixed with stomach acid).
The sounds never came, so I was forced to venture back and check on him. At that point I was informed that he had already thrown up a bit in his room (heaven help me, I never figured out where this was supposed to have happened). I gave him a couple of sips of soda and a large bowl lined with paper towels, then sent him back to bed.
Around the time that I was dozing back off, he brought the bowl back to me. I dumped the meager contents, lined a fresh bowl, and sent him back to bed. It wasn’t long after that that Caleb felt the need to come out and say hi. Quick hug. Go to bed–please.
As I was starting to doze off (again), Noah came back out to tell me that–oh yeah!–he had thrown up a bit on his bed that last time. Get up. Strip a bed for the second time that night. Hunt down another clean blanket. Snuggle and goodnight.
When Noah came back out a little while later to tell me that he had thrown up a bit in his bowl again, I told him to go tell Daddy about it. Oh, come on–we all have our limits. Mine had been met.
Shortly thereafter, Caleb decided that he should come say hi to me again.
And then it was time to get up.
Would you like to guess how much I have gotten accomplished today, or how cheerfully I accomplished it?