Last night found me happily spooning rice/cereal applesauce mixture into Eli's greedy, baby-bird mouth, enthusing to Jim, "Look how much he's eating! This is nearly twice what he usually takes! Maybe we need to start feeding him MORE!" I glowed with pride in my boy's appetite, sure that this was a sign he was finally feeling well and healthy.
Two hours later found me rinsing a whole crapload of distinctly apple-y smelling barf out of Eli's hair as he screamed bloody murder. I'm SO not exaggerating about the bloody murder part- it was terrifying, how loud and how piercing this scream was. The fact that Addy slept through it is nothing short of miraculous. I felt so bad- clearly his stomach had been overloaded and had no choice but to empty itself. He seemed to be uncomfortable for awhile, even after the first major spew, which woke him up around eleven thirty. I held him and rocked him, wrapped in a towel, as he continued to simultaneously retch and suck his thumb sleepily. After awhile there was nothing left in his little belly, and he fell asleep again.
It reminded me of all those Catherine Newman barfing posts- her children seemed to get an awful lot of stomach viruses. But this is actually the first time I have experienced such sheer volume of puke from a child. Addy never really threw up much at all when she was a baby, and has never had the flu. So hearing that ominouos gagging over the baby monitor last night was the first test of Jim's and my virgin skills in tandem barf cleanup mode.
We did pretty well, I think- I ran and picked up the baby, who was wailing piteously and lying in a pool of regurgitated cereal. Jim went to run a bath while I comforted Eli, who continued to barf all over me and his clothes. We got him undressed, and I bathed him while Jim gathered up the barfy clothes and sheets. Then when he was in clean pajamas, I rocked him while Jim hovered nearby with burp cloths and a bucket (me: "He's a BABY; we're not going to hold his head over a BUCKET!" Jim: "You'd rather have it down your sleeve?")
When he seemed finally to be done with the puking, I rocked him back to sleep while Jim put clean sheets on the crib and helped me remove my yakked-on shirt. Ah, parental bonding.
Not sure how to segue that into Happy Valentine's Day mode, so we'll just jump right in. I made blueberry pancakes and bacon for breakfast, and presented Addy with pink, heart-festooned socks and Jim with a card. Tomorrow night we'll go out for sushi- we were THIS CLOSE to finagling a reservation for tonight, the OFFICIAL Day of Love, but while we were calling to arrange babysitting, the spot was taken. THAT'S WHAT YOU GET, LAST MINUTE SLACKERS! seemed to be the unspoken message from the guy on the phone.
Happy V-Day, everyone! Hope you all get lucky!