Last night I went to the mall, ate leftovers when I got home, and got the kids ready for bed. Cheerleading practice was cancelled and I was really excited about that. That’s bad, isn’t it? I got the boys snuggly and ready for bed and I decided to let them watch Sprout in our bed for a few minutes before we tucked them in. So here we were, watching “The Bernstein Bears” and I noticed that they were dozing off, so I turned it to “Good Fellas” on AMC. I’m right in the middle of watching Tommy get whacked for killing Billy Batts when Dylan suddenly rolled over and started shooting vomit ALL over my bed and all over my hair— I started screaming for Don. I ran Dylan to the bathroom and he sprayed again like a fire extinguisher. When people talk about exorcist-like vomit, this is exactly what they are talking about. It was disgusting—poor Dylan. And poor me! It was in my hair! Anyway, we stripped down and got into the shower and Don started wrapping up our sheets to take them down to the washer. Carson was standing outside the bathroom door shouting “Mama! Hot dog!” because that’s what Dylan had thrown up. Sorry, it’s gross, but it’s funny that Carson was saying that. So as we were getting clean, Don brought up a stack of towels and started laying them on top of the piles of vomit. I was sort of chuckling because I totally knew that he wasn’t going to clean it up. He was killing time until I got out of the shower and dressed. Honestly, I was happy that he threw the sheets into the washer, so I just giggled to myself about the vomit-dodging. As he covered the vomit methodically, it reminded me of Adam Sandler in “Big Daddy”. Remember when he kept covering up the kid’s messes with newspaper? Guys are so funny and ridiculous! It’s moments like these when I wonder if I signed some kind of vomit and poop contract at the hospital while I was on pain-killers. I think the contract says something like “All vomit, bowel movements, and mysterious bodily functions will be handled in their entirety by the mother, Brittany Chenault. The father will automatically be exempt from participating in anything considered putrid and foul.”
Seriously, moments like these make me realize that:
1. I am very important.
2. Men must have seriously sensitive noses and gag reflexes.
3. If we died, there would be piles of newspaper all over the house.
4. If we died, they would invite their mothers to move in, until they remarry.
5. And I totally understand why men with small children remarry after losing their wives.
I know that I am being dark and sinister here, but isn’t it true? It’s moments that include massive amounts of vomit that make me feel truly appreciated.
The worst part of the whole situation is that Bo, Dylan’s best bear friend, was vomited on. I had to wash him and Dylan kept saying “Mama, Bo?” And I kept reminding him that he had to find another fluffy friend since Bo had been hosed down with puke. He really needed a bath anyway and I have been trying to sneak him off to the washer for days now and have been unsuccessful. He slept with a bunny, but I don’t think that the ears felt the same on his nose because he kept tossing him onto the floor. Don and I had to sleep on the couch, since our bed was no longer useable, and the boys slept on a pallet on the floor.
So far, at the point that I am writing this, Dylan is feeling better. But you never know what will happen once I hit “save”.
Have a great day! Hope I didn’t ruin your breakfast. It's funny though, right? Again, BEST birth control. I think that once Lindsey and Logan are teenagers, I will whip out these blog entries and remind them of what having a child really looks like.
So funny and so true! I have to admit Chris is really good, he watched Henry all summer by himself, but every day when I got home I heard about every poop and puke he had to clean up in detail, like I should give him an award or something! One time I came home and he had a bandana around his face like he had just robbed a bank. I asked what that was about and he said, "Oh I wear this everytime I change Henry's diaper." It was so funny. Needless to say when we're both home with Henry, I am the one who cleans the poop and the puke.
ReplyDeleteAmelie came over last night and reminded us that a couple of weeks ago she "puked" all over the floor. "But I'm ok now Nonna, I won't PUKE on your floor."
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