The following post is part of a writing exercise suggested by a fellow mom and blogger.
I had, what many might call, a very “socially active” life during college as well as in my post-college years. And as with most young people with this type of active social life, I’ve had a number of experiences with overindulgence of alcohol – both on my part and that of my friends. (Note to Mom, if you end up reading this: it happened, it was years ago, let it go) I remember thinking at one point that for all the crazy drunk stories I had, one experience I had managed to avoid was being on the receiving end of someone else’s vomit. There were years I considered this quite a coup.
As I approached motherhood, I realized that the percentage of moms out there able to maintain a vomit-free track record was probably infinitesimal at best. Still, as the months passed, my status remained intact. However, I slowly realized that I was missing one thing many other moms had and shared with each other like blazing badges of honor at each playgroup: a really good disgusting “war” story.
Then, one night, when Jack was about 15 months old, he started getting a little warm after dinnertime. We went through his bedtime routine and I turned out the light and sat with him in the glider in his room to rock him to sleep. As we sat in the dark, Jack coughed twice and then proceeded to unload his entire dinner, and probably part of his lunch all over me, my hands, my shirt, my pants, and my hair,as well as himself, his blanket, and the glider. I called for Steve who helped me clean up the horrible mess, get Jack in bed and gather everything up and load the washer.
Somewhere around the rinse cycle, we heard another cough over the baby monitor. I went up to check on Jack and found that he had vomited again in his crib. So once again, off came the sleeper, off came the crib sheet, out came the blankets and another load of laundry was taken downstairs.
By the end of the night, we had gone through four sleepers, three crib sheets, six blankets and 1/2 a bottle of Tide.
But I finally had my first good disgusting mommy “war” story.