Wherein I Jinx Myself

I need to watch my mouth or start knocking on wood or something.

Within the last few days Jeff and I had a conversation about how nice it is that when we put Bennett down at night we can be confident we won't hear a peep from him until morning. Once he's had his story, prayer and song he is done. out. down for the count. I don't think we've had anything even close to resembling a "difficult" night with him since he was about seven months old and trying to readjust to Texas time after a trip to Maui.

(Yes, I know we are spoiled and I'm fully prepared for Baby Dos to kick our rears and render us sleep deprived zombies who only faintly recall that glorious rumor called "sleeping through the night".)

So I was surprised last night to hear B crying at about 10:30. I waited for a minute but he sounded truly pitiful so I picked him up, snuggled for a bit, sang a few songs and put him back down. He didn't feel feverish or anything so I figured he'd had a bad dream or something. I left his room thinking how sweet it was to get to hold and comfort my sleepy boy like that. We don't get a lot of quiet snuggle time these days.

After Jeff and I climbed into bed we heard Bennett crying again. Jeff trudged up stairs to attempt to settle the restless child. I soon followed him when through the monitor I heard "Oh, no" and "Uh...Stacey?". I immediately measured his tone and accurately surmised the problem. Even before I smelled it.

As I headed to the nursery I mentally kicked myself for recently talking about how Bennett hasn't ever thrown up and hoping out loud that he inherited the "iron stomach" from my mom's side of the family.

Well, I don't think there is a blank for this one in his baby book but I'll record the milestone here. First barf: September 9, 2008.

And it was everywhere. He managed to not only heavily soil his sheet, bumper and bed skirt but he hit the wall and the floor and created a nice pool in the crib that he opted to lay in. Poor little guy was covered. Jeff took the sad, stinky child to the tub while I began operation clean-up.

Once puke had been removed from his hair, ears and belly button and the washing machine was running we decided to bring Bennett to bed with us. That's what you do with sick kiddos, right?

You know, so that way they can puke all over you and your bedding.

Which he did.

More bathing, more laundry. We only have one sheet set that fits our bed so we lay out whatever towels and extra sheets we could find and after two am finally collapsed onto the haphazard pile of linens.

Bennett crawled all over me seeking just the perfect position to settle down and sleep. Apparently it was pretty darn comfy to lay sideways across my chest, knees jammed up in my ribcage and entire upper body wedged incomprehensibly between my chin and collarbone.

To accommodate this sleeping arrangement I was required to stay flat on my back with my head awkwardly tilted back as though attempting to ponder the intricacies of our headboard. As his body weight was crushing my esophagus, I attempted to breathe deeply and slowly and enjoy the moment. I do miss sleeping with a soft, sweet-smelling baby curled close to me. Despite my efforts to the contrary, Bennett gave up on shared naps almost six months ago when he stopped nursing.

Since I was no where near comfortable enough to go to sleep I soaked up the scent of his hair, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against mine, the feel of his still-baby-smooth skin. All at once he seemed so big (and heavy!) and yet so small and in need of my protection.

But as my neck began to cramp and the lack of oxygen caused me to feel lightheaded I decided that I absolutely must move. The wee one did not appreciate the shift and we spent the next half hour negotiating a sleep compromise. A peace treaty was reached only once he was back in his crib (with new sheets and a towel) and I was in my bed.

The rest of the night (er...morning) was uneventful and Bennett woke up chipper as could be at eight am. Does this look like the yogurt-covered face of a sick boy?





After intensive research thinking through what I fed my child in the last 24 hours I believe I have discovered the source of the upset tummy.


I decided not to eat my salad last night because I didn't like the ranch. I thought it was just due to trying a different brand, but looking back the flavor did seem a bit sour. Bennett on the other hand LOVED the dressing and dipped everything he could find in it, resorting to dipping and licking his fingers once his pizza, carrots and Craisins were gone. That bottle has now found its way into the trash.

Rest assured, dear friends, I am not seeking any sympathy as I know this type of night is par for the parenting course. I have no doubt that it is simply the first of many vomit-filled adventures in our future. I simply wanted to record the moment for posterity.