I (heart) vomit

I love vomit. Really. That's the only explanation I can think of when rationalizing why I pick the G-man up when I know he's going to let it go all over me. Because what other sane reason can there be for such behavior?

This was one of the things I was really worried about when I became a mom. I don't do too well with bodily mess to begin with, but definitely not this kind. I was never the nice friend that held your hair back. I may have offered you a drink of water when you were done, but that's the limit of my involvement. I'm not even too thrilled when it's my own. I certainly wanted no part in anyone else's. Lolo once caught her son's upchuck in her hands. I'm miles away from that!

So the first time G-man demonstrated the difference between spit-up and actual vomit, I was not amused. But I lived. Through all three times that weekend. (However, we may not be welcome back at Pei Wei for a while still.)

And when he had a bout with some stomach thing a few months later, I felt way more sorry for him than my clothes, the floor or his crib sheet. What's a little cleaning between family?

Then just last week, I heard him coughing in his sleep. It got a little worse and I wondered what was up. Then he let out a whimper so I wandered into his room. He sounded like maybe he had something he was trying to get up, like some congestion, so I gently picked him up and he coughed a bit more, whimpered again, and thanked me...by spewing dinner (ew, we had pizza that night) all over me. 

He was over my shoulder so it went down my back, down my front, in my hair. Then he cried out and turned to me for comfort. Yep, he mushed his head into the mess on me and clung like a baby monkey. A vomit-covered baby monkey climbing all over his mama.

And guess what? I didn't even wince when it happened.

I kind of knew it might end up that way and I still picked him up. Because as yucky as it may be, it's my job.

Two nights later, I heard the cough again. And I went to his room again. And I picked him up before he could even whimper, KNOWING what was coming next. It wasn't as bad this time: he only got me and the floor, not himself, so one less person to hit the showers. But what's really odd is that I didn't even notice my back was covered until everything was settled back down with him.

I love knowing that he turns to me to help him feel better and if a little throw-up comes between us first, well, so be it.

So maybe I should change this to I love G-man's vomit. Because I love G-man.

Everyone else, you're on your own.