It was inevitable. Getting puked on, I mean; it was bound to happen sometime. I’ve been pooped on, peed on, spit up on; I’ve had my hair pulled, my eyes poked, my nipples pinched (and bit), and my lips have little fingernail scratches on them from tiny grabby hands, but I had yet to be puked on.
That all ended last weekend. We got back from our cruise on Friday and drove the five hours home. During the last 10 minutes of the car ride—seriously, 10 more minutes and we would’ve been home—I looked up just as Julia got sick. All over herself, her car seat, and a little bit of the car. My husband pulled off to a side street and I immediately jumped out before he even came to a stop—barefoot and all—and wrangled my hands through the mess, got her out, feeling an overwhelming urge to comfort her. (Upon reflection…we were so close to home, I should’ve just waited, because putting her back in her seat caused lots of tears.)
I wish that was the only case of her being sick, but the bug lasted a good three days. We both went through several outfit changes, lots of towels, different crib sheets, a few smiles, and ample snuggle time. Poor thing, it just kept coming out—projectile at times. I’ve never been so thankful to have an American washer and dryer!
Never have I ever felt more helpless in my entire life. Here was my tiny little baby literally clinging to me while continuously throwing up (all over both of us) and crying because her tummy hurt, and there wasn’t a single thing I could to do help her. Immediately after she got sick, she practically begged me to nurse her, so I did—soiled clothes for both of us and all—it was the only thing I could do. I held her close, rocked her, and comforted her by nursing.
For those three days we had lots and lots of snuggle time. She’d lay on my lap, nestled between my legs, and lean her head against my chest. I smothered her in gentle kisses and prayed over that her tummy would stop hurting. I know, in the grand scheme of things, a stomach bug was bound to happen sooner or later, but it just reminded me how vulnerable she is and how much I deeply care for this little person. My world stood still during those days.
She eventually got better and her sleepy, sick, glazed over eyes started shinning again. Her personality is now back in full force and she’s practically running laps around our house. (Oh yes, she’s full on walking now.) But it made me think of all grateful I am that this is the first time, in her 11+ months of life, that she’s truly been sick. I have friends and family who aren’t so lucky with their little ones, so I’m truly blessed that this is the first time we’ve had to deal with this.
I know it’s horrible to say this, but I thoroughly enjoyed the snuggles. Julia’s always been a spry little one and hardly ever sat still—even before she knew how to sit. So for her to willingly linger in my arms and let me hold her made the mama in me swoon. With that said, I’m happy she’s feeling more like herself these days and the next time she gets sick, I’ll be there with open arms (and lots of towels by my side).