I woke up this morning with an ice pic stabbing my cranium above my left eye. I rolled over confused and saw Anya all snuggled up in her footies on daddy's pillow. She had thrown up at bed time and no matter how much resolve, odor eating shampoo formula, fabreeze and open windows the smell requires atomic cleansing to remove...so she slept with me in the big bed and daddy found himself on the couch. The yogurt she found on the table after her nap yesterday had been sitting out for hours, forgotten, we had figured out this morning. I went to put her into her crib for bed after a verse of Twinkle Twinkle, she looked at me blankly and swallowed hard a few times....blllllaaaauuuwwwk....and for me, since puke is something I've never been able to tolerate, and don't let them fool you that it's different with your own...bullshit...this was the worst ending to a bad day!
We stripped down as she shook and shivered, whimpering while I controlled my own impulse to add to the slop running down the crib bars and drip drip dropping onto the rug. It was everywhere...across the room, on the bedspread, on me, oozing off her. I grabbed old receiving blankets and tried to collect the chunks and give a compulsory wipe down before we cleaned ourselves in the tub. I grabbed my phone unconsciously and called Rich while the tub filled with water and bubbles.
"How much longer do you think you'll be?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Puke-tastic. But it wasn't on purpose. Seems like something she ate."
Overly loud disgruntled (and disgusted) sigh, "I'll get home when I can, but you'll have to figure it out."
We hung up and I sunk deep into the bubbles and cursed to myself. Anya relaxed, stopped shaking and started trying to pop the bubbles. The best part of a puke-tastic night is sliding into the warm, bubbly bath tub. I haven't taken a bath in about 20 years (I do shower daily, mind you, so no snarky euwws), so this bit of heaven for me is pure entertainment and happiness for Anya. She takes the wash cloth and I ask her to wash each part of herself and am amazed how much she understands. Too bad our tub is a fake, miniature, fiberglass, excuse-for bathing and I can barely get myself back to standing for the wash and rinse off.
I dry her off in a fluffy purple towel and dress her in a new pair of fleece footies and get her snuggled on her rocking chair with some Wonder Pets. I grab some paper towels, greenworks, oxi-clean resolve, the shampooer with industrial strength odor removing formula and struggle up the steps in dread. I'm already psyching myself out. Come on. You're a grown up. You've done it before. Just get it over with. I start with the dripping bars and crib contents. Slowly I pluck each corner of the sheet and mattress pad from its corner, realizing that the ooze will also be behind the bars and essentially get on the mattress, albeit covered in plastic. I step on something cold and fight the image of vomit on my clean toes. I wrap everything up in the sheet and put them in a plastic bag, then attempt to wipe down the bars and O God I don't think I can do this and saturated them with Greenworks and used too many paper towels, but felt fairly successful in finding all the crevices. Next I got on my knees with a soaked wash cloth and aimed at getting all the milk fats up so that the shampooer could actually clean the carpet. I kept turning my head to the side to get a fresh breath of air from the open window, then turning back to the carpet and scrubbing the next spot with a glance. I dowsed the carpet with Oxi Resolve and took all the mess to the washing machine downstairs.
On my way back up, I stopped and hugged Anya to make sure she was okay left alone downstairs so I could clean up. She was so tired and was asking for more milk, but O no I wasn't making that mistake tonight. I let her drink some water and told her I'd be back in a few minutes. Thumb in mouth and fingers twirling her hair she nodded yes. Back in the bog of stench I plugged in the shampooer and began to flood the carpet with super-powered cleaner. I felt like I had beaten the monster and I did so by myself - instead of George the dragonslayer I was mom the Puke-slayer. But I know he will return again and again to test my strength, making me weary and drained.
Anya fell asleep on my shoulder as we made our way upstairs. I texted Rich to change over the washer to the dryer when he got home and that I think I did well cleaning up - this morning proved otherwise as the stench still eminates from beneath the closed door even with the window cracked open. Anya curled up fetal on daddy's side of the bed and I just closed my eyes and drifted off into Neverland.
This morning I know the Puke-monster wounded me. I managed to get myself up, dressed and off to work, but very late and in a state of torpidity. For a moment I considered working from home, but instanly thought better. There is no way anyone would let me get away with working from home on a Friday with the reason of: migraine - perception = taking advantage of the cat being away.
I wanted to write something extrodinary today, but I want to do that everyday. Who the hell am I to consider myself more profound or exceptional compared to the mass of bloggers around the world. In reality the wound to my left brain will take some healing time, and until then I am without elite storytelling skills. Enjoy my adventures in puke-tasticness.
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