If You Don't Want to Hear about Puke or Vomit, Skip This Entry

No new news about Bry meeting whatever developmental milestone is currently in queue. However, I've now reached a new parenting milestone: being puked upon.

Tonight Steve, Bry, and I were out at Noodles for a lovely dinner. Bry wasn't so keen on his rice and lentils, but I figured it was just because he had had a big lunch. He turned down the tofu that we ordered for him too, but again, that was a long shot, given his hot and cold relationship with certain foods. Bry seemed tired, intermittently resting his head on the table, as if the act of holding his head up was really tiring his neck out. In retrospect, the fact that he wasn't pounding the table with his cup also should have signaled that something was amiss.

Midway through our meal, we (and at least 4 or 5 other diners in close vicinity) were treated to the sight of Bry projectile vomiting all over himself, the table, and the floor. He's never thrown up with quite that ferocity or volume before. There were occasions back in the early days when Bry would spit up what seemed like an impressive amount of milk and I'd wonder whether he had truly vomited, or just spit up. Now I know the answer.

After the event, both Steve and I just kind of sat there, dumbfounded. I can't speak for Steve, but I imagine he shared thoughts similar to my own, namely: "Uhhhh, what exactly just happened there?" Bry was crying, I think because he startled himself as well. I plucked his puke-covered self up out of the highchair all the while wondering about how to (a) keep the vomit from touching me, (b) clean up enough to get home, and (c) get all the other restaurant patrons to stop staring at us. OK, I really don't know if they were staring at us, but it certainly felt like they were, what with the bewildered, crying child and giant puddle of vomit on the floor directly under our table.

I took Bry back to the restroom to try to clean both of us up while Steve did damage control around the table. He put Bry's soiled bib in a takeout box (clever, if not disgusting) and mopped up what he could with a stack of napkins. He then alerted one of the employees who looked at the mess on the floor and then reached down to touch it for unknown reasons. The employee then shrugged his shoulders, said, "It's fine," and continued to bus our table, without washing his hands. I'm not sure the italics do justice to the grossness of this action, so take it from me: gross.

Somehow we managed to all make it home without further incident, but that's when the puking really started in earnest. Steve bathed Bry, after which I nursed him, per our usual bedtime routine. Bry then deviated from the bedtime routine when he pulled away mid-nurse and heaved the contents of his stomach all over me, the rocking chair, the floor, etc., etc.

Mostly undaunted by this turn of events (or perhaps just in shock), I called for Steve to help. We changed Bry's pajamas, swapped out the rocking chair cushions for couch pillows, and tried to resume the process of putting Bry to bed. I changed my clothes and somewhat naively, or perhaps stupidly, continued to try to nurse Bry. Not sure what I was thinking there. I had even brought out a stack of old towels with the thought that I should probably cover myself and/or Bry up, but failed to do so. Bry was quite sleepy, though still cheery, and I put him down in the crib without any problems. At some point after that, this whole crazy dance started over again and Bry threw up all over his crib. Cue in the second PJ change and add on a change of the crib sheet and mattress pad.

All together, Bry has puked about half a dozen times (thus far) tonight. Somehow, after each time, he has managed to smile at Steve or I when we go to retrieve him and clean him up. We've done 3 loads of laundry and I've washed my hands so many times that I think I'm starting to rub the skin off. Two worried calls to the pediatrician have revealed that we are, indeed, neurotic parents. I imagine the nurse was rolling her eyes while more or less telling Steve, "He's fine," and making the "first-time parents" sign to whoever was sitting close by.

At least we've wised up and wrapped a towel around Bry's mattress for easier clean-up. Here's hoping that Bry feels better soon. Because we're starting to run out of towels.