Vomit, and other thoughts

Over the past five weeks, Turtle and Monkey have each had two ear infections. Monkey most recently had one in her left ear, at the same time two molars were breaking through on that side. This was right after one molar had broken through and right before another started growing. So she now has three coming in at an excruciatingly slow pace. Both girls are currently recovering from a stomach flu that attacked them in the middle of the night Tuesday. Most nights this past month have been interrupted by at least one round of crying, usually by Monkey. It’s been rough.

I spent all day Wednesday cleaning up vomit. It started first thing in the morning, when I walked into the nursery and saw both girls fast asleep with yesterday’s red bell pepper and hummus -- in the form of dried vomit -- in their hair, on their faces, all over their sheets. It didn’t end until that night, after they went to sleep, and I put Monkey’s vomit smeared car seat cover in the wash. In between I changed Turtle’s bed sheets once more because of leaky diarrhea, and changed Monkey’s clothes multiple times because she kept vomiting on herself. I never managed to clean the carpet in the nursery where Monkey peed, though. It happened as she stood there diaperless, crying after the rushed morning bath, while I ran to get Turtle out of the tub.

On a lighter note, I finally used my new mop -- to clean some vomit off the kitchen floor.

I will admit it was pretty hard to feel like I was playing house yesterday. Did I mention that the girls were supposed to go to daycare, and that I had plans for lunch with four girlfriends that I’d been looking forward to all month?

I’m not complaining, although I think it would be ok if I was. But that’s not what this blog is about. In these posts, I’m not complaining, I’m not looking for sympathy, and I’m not even looking for advice most of the time. I’m just telling. I’m sharing my experience as it happens. My hope is that some mom out there who I don’t even know will read something that helps her. Maybe it will make her laugh, or will remind her that someone understands her pain. Maybe she will feel superior to me when she manages to clean the pee stain out or her carpet, and that’s ok, if that’s what she needs. My job is to write about my experience, and each reader is free to interact with the story however he or she chooses. I know that everyone who reads this probably knows me and my family, or knows someone who does. But as I write, I think (fantasize?) about people I don’t know stumbling upon my blog, and finding something relatable; something that helps them remember that it’s ok to be human, and imperfect, and a little whiny on a bad day.