That was me tonight.
I was having such a good night. DJ is coaching the semi-final football game up in Salt Lake, so Nikki and I were hanging out having some quality sister time. We went out for smoothies, which was awesome! Lex drank some of mine, but not a lot. She often shares smoothies with me so I didn't think anything of it. Why would I? Now hold that thought.
When we got home, I bathed a very grumpy Lexsi, realized all her PJ's were dirty, and put on her LAST clean long-sleeved onesie and some sweats (yeah, I realize I probably need to do her laundry more than once a week). I fed her a bottle while rocking her, and I was thinking how happy I was. I'm so blessed to live across the street from my sister! I'm so blessed to have this amazing baby! I'm glad I've never been a stickler on the "make your baby put herself to sleep" thing, because man, this is the sweetest part of my day! You get it, right? Happy thoughts.
BAM!
Happy thoughts interrupted by Alexsi barfing. Not spitting up. No, trust me, I've dealt with plenty of spit up in the past 8 months. This was real, projectile vomiting. I hastily sat her up to make sure she was okay (the poor little thing was really mostly asleep already before this), and she barfed more! And to make matters worse, the second time it was red. For about half a second I nearly lost it, thinking she was projectile vomiting blood. Then logic kicked in and I realized it was probably smoothie. I turned on the light to be certain and yep, sure enough, there was the Girls' Night Out smoothie, all over me, all over Lex, and all over the floor. I stood there in shock for about 5 seconds, just staring at the red stain on my brand new carpet. I checked Lexsi's forehead, and she didn't feel feverish at all. I set her down so I could assess the damage on the floor and she promptly took off squealing to hide out under her crib, so I knew she was feeling fine. I was grateful for that, but my mind was already on the next thing, and running a million miles a minute.
"What the crap am I supposed to do?"
"Of course this happens when I'm here by myself!!!"
"I am texting DJ RIGHT NOW and telling him."
"What good will that do? He won't see it for a few hours anyway, and when he does he'll just feel bad."
"I wish he was home."
"I'm calling Nikki."
"Why would I call Nikki? I don't think she knows how to clean regurgitated smoothie out of carpet either."
"Good thing I own this house."
"Why did I buy a house???"
"If I lived in my mom's basement she'd help me."
"I'm calling my mom."
And that one I actually followed through with... but got her voicemail. I proceeded to put on my big-girl pants and do my best to clean the carpet while Lex hung out under her crib and we both were still covered in vomit. {In retrospect, it seems like I should have cleaned us up first... oh well.}
Armed with dish soap, cold water and a towel, I took on that red spot. It is now gone from the carpet {I hope-- can't be certain until it dries...} but I have a pink towel (previously green) and many many pink burp cloths. They're currently in the washer, along with the vomity clothes. Remember how Lex has no PJ's and barfed on her last clean long-sleeved shirt? She's now in bed in short sleeves. And her room smells... a combination of vomit and Dawn.
In case you think I'm exaggerating the red-ness of this situation, I shamelessly snapped a picture of my child's vomit:
I don't think I'm going to win any parenting awards any time soon.
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