Lastnight, myself dressed in a pretty purple dress and my handsome husband in a well-tailored suit, we attended my company's holiday party at an amazing venue in Boston. The food was delicious, the view was absolutely breath-taking, our table of friends were hilarious. We dined and drank and danced the night away. It was a memorable and classy affair.
Tonight is memorable in a much different way. I am in my robe as I type this because the clothes I was wearing are covered in baby puke. I'm used to the little smelly spit-ups after bottles. But this was waaaay different. Something far more evil.
Halfway through Desmond's pre-bedtime bottle he swatted it away. He sat up and there was a familiar gurgling sound... A sound I had heard for the first time a few hours earlier, right before he vomited every morsel of food he ate that day all over the kitchen table. The realization of what was about to happen only gave me enough time to shift him so that the projectiled puke did not hit my face and neck. But most everything else within a 3 foot radius of the rocking chair did not fair so well.
I stood there frozen, holding Des. Both of us covered, as was the area rug and wood floor in front of us. I called down to Tony.
"Everything alright?" he said.
Remarkably, Des was totally fine after. I put him down on a clean square of the floor. And he crawled over to his toys, babbling away and leaving a trail of yuck in his wake.
Tony got to work on the floor and rocker. I stripped down to my underwear before I grabbed Des to change him. After I had already been half naked for 5 minutes, I noticed the orangey-pink goo dripping down my cleavage.
Lastnight I was sipping champagne at the top of the city. What a difference a day makes.
Des went to sleep just fine, as he normally does. We'll have the monitor on high alert tonight and keep an eye on him tomorrow. But we're hoping it's just a fluke tummy ache.
I can't get the smell of partially digested sweet potatoes and formula out of my nose. I'm off to go shower in bleach now.