There are days as a mom where everything about your children is sweet and full of love and you want to remember each moment in it’s exact form and detail. And then there are days like today.
Days like this…only worse. Much worse.
Today started out as any other day would. Up at 5am, feed the baby, try to sleep a bit until the older child awakes at 7, feed both of them, coffee, coffee…..coffee. And then it happened.
I’m walking down the hallway, past the kitchen and entering the living room. Baby is tucked under my arm with his tummy sort of leaning on my forearm…picture a football, only it’s really a baby who is facing the same way I am but angled down about 45 degrees. I hear it before I feel it and register what’s happened.
I stop in my tracks and think to myself ‘what was that?’ then I can feel it…as it cools on my foot. My bare foot.
Looking down, I see frothy, chunky, curdled, white, regurgitated breast milk. On my foot.
But not only on my foot.
Somehow, against the laws of physics and bringing into question the existence of a second spitter…I drop kicked the spit-up in mid stride. How one can kick puke I don’t know. But I did. Kick puke. And that kick caused it to further project itself all across the dining room floor. There wasn’t just a puddle to clean up…there was a spray worthy of CSI detectives with laser beams and trajectory analysis.
After cleaning up my foot, the floor and the baby I laughed about the incident with my husband because that’s all you can do – laugh. Especially considering what I dealt with from his other end, of which, I’ll spare you the details.
Ain’t motherhood grand?