Friday, December 22, 2017

Puke, Dances and Fancy Bathrooms

The flu tore through our house the week of Thanksgiving, claiming many victims. I was one of the victims, it knocked me out for two days as I parented from the beanbag in our playroom. Cheering on my three year old as he dressed himself. Praising my 10 year old for making PB&J sandwiches for dinner. In between vomiting episodes, I made lunches, brushed hair and changed diapers.

For months Charlotte has been learning ballroom dancing through an incredible program at our school. She worked and practiced hard and earned a spot in the finals, I am so proud of her hard work and loved watching her passion for dance show. The day of the performance I awoke with the plague, held captive by my nausea. My only goal that day was to stop puking long enough to be able to attend her performance.

We all got dressed up fancy and loaded up in the bus which my dad so kindly agreed to drive. We headed to the performance. My parents and friends helped wrangle kiddos, blessings to them! Half way through the performance sweet Baby Boy blew out his diaper all over my mom and himself. In one motion I scooped him and the diaper bag up and rushed to the bathroom.

Being at the local fancy playhouse meant no changing table in the bathroom. I looked around for a surface to lay him on so I could begin to clean up, thankful I had remembered to grab an extra outfit. The entrance of the bathroom was fancy, a little area before walking into the main area with the stalls, there was a cute table with a bowl of decorative balls on it, there was my surface.

You know the saying, how do you eat an elephant...one bite at a time, that was the approach I took while trying to clean up my wiggly and very messy baby boy. I was about 25 wipes into the situation when to make the mess worse he starts projectile vomiting while I am changing him.

My first thought not enough wipes, second thought was we’ve got this. At this point I stand him up and above the table where I was changing him was a mirror. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and with a squeal of delight he began slapping his vomit covered hands all over the mirror, decorating the mirror with tiny vomit hand prints.

At this point the only option was losing all of the clothing, I peeled them off and left the crime scene for the sink, we needed more than wipes. Let’s pause for a minute to talk about how auto sinks are not a parent’s friend. Making a bottle, cleaning little hands or bathing your baby is impossible when you are constantly having to trigger the sensor.

A little soap, splashes of water and piles of paper towels, a clean outfit and we were good to go. Parenthood has taught me so many things, like a boy scout I am learning 3 ½ years in, to always be prepared. I am also learning to be flexible, early in my parenting journey a situation like this would have brought on the tears. Today, I am thankful that we don’t have to remain in one place. That there is grace for all the poop, the forgotten necessities and for the clean up.

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