Last night I was in full-blown Super Mom mode, multi-tasking like a pro. Seriously, you should have seen me: feeding the baby, playing with my three-year old, changing diapers, preparing clothes and food for the next day, all while cooking a New Year’s resolution-inspired healthy dinner for Hub and me. Then in a second it all changed.
The baby started crying, I picked him up and…
Explosive diarrhea. Projectile vomit. EVERYWHERE.
I stood there in shock for a moment, dripping from head to toe in puke (not even an exaggeration; I have never seen so much bodily fluid come out of someone so tiny). I looked down at him and he looked up at me. He looked so scared, so I just held him to my chest as he grasped my soaked shirt. I held him tight, kissed his wet hair and sticky cheek and promised him he was alright. Mommy’s here, everything is ok baby. In that brief, vomit-drenched moment, making him feel safe was all that mattered. Shhh my baby boy, I got you….shhh.
“Ewwww! He PUKED! Mom, there’s puke in your hair!” – the three-year old comes bounding in the room and I’m snapped back to reality. I peeled off all of our clothes right there in the living room (…just as I noticed my shades were open. Oh hi neighbors, nothing to see here, carry on please) and I started a bath. Well, of course the three-year old didn’t want to be left out of all this fun so all three of us squeezed in my little bathtub as I contemplated how to clean vomit off an oriental carpet.
Later that night as I was rocking my baby to sleep and giving him a little extra snuggle time, I was thinking how that brief snapshot in time was so representative of motherhood in general. Just as I think “I got this!” a situation arises and proves me wrong. I am constantly bombarded with lessons in humility. Another reason is the overwhelming, inherent need I felt to comfort my baby, despite being covered in bodily fluids. My babies come first. Before me, before anything and everything. And ultimately, how all of it is worth it – the good, the not-so-good, the straight up gross, all of it.
(And for those wondering, no, I didn’t get a chance to wash my hair. I’m pretty sure there’s some crusty puke in it as I type this.)