So, I’m sitting in the doctor’s office with Boychild, waiting to be seen by the P.A. Suddenly, Boychild retches, spilling the contents of his tiny tummy all over me. My first thought is “how can so much puke come out of a child so small? Does he store vomit in a hump somewhere like a camel stores water? Does he have a hollow leg? ” My second thought is “poor fella.” My third thought is “Oh God, get it off me!!”

Lord, I hate throw-up. Fortunately, Boychild eats only soft, phallic-shaped beige foods, so his sudden reversal wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Unfortunately for me, it took the P.A. half an hour to come and tend to us, so I was covered in puke for waaaaay longer than I ever wanted to be. Boychild had a change of clothes in his diaper bag; I didn’t. I didn’t even think to pull my hair back. Y’all, my hair is so long, I look like I’ve gone feral (admittedly, the twigs and leaves stuck in my locks don’t help). I’ve got natural beachy waves with a little streak o’gray.  I look like a cross between a mermaid and a witch. A mermitch? The upside of long hair is that you can wear it multiple ways: long or up. The downside is that when you have a sick child, long hair left hanging becomes a towel, a tissue, a blanket and a toy. In the doctor’s office, my hair, along with my pants, sweater and socks (!) became a sponge. I will spare you the details, but once we got home and put Boychild in bed, I didn’t think I could ever make the water hot enough to get the vinegar stank of kid-puke off of me. Hand me the bleach! Dunk me in essential oils! Yet, here’s a spot. What, will this hair ne’er be clean?

That nasty little interlude paled in comparison to the following evening, when BC’s fever spiked to 103.5 in the small hours of the morning, and I had to bathe him down with wet rags to bring his fever under control. I felt like a pioneer mother, hoping my child would make it ‘til dawn. I cannot imagine the grit and courage moms had back then, where the nearest doc was probably drunk and at least an hour away and all he’d do for your sick kid is stick a glob of leeches on them and call it a day.  Boychild fell asleep in my arms as his fever broke, and he slept well for the rest of the night. The next day, he lolled around weakly, still with a slight fever. We had a lazy day of weird YouTube videos and lots of water, and when he let out a large toot, gave me a half-cocked grin and said “I tooted,” I knew he’d be okay.

He’s gradually getting back to normal and I’m truly thankful that my new unemployed status has allowed me to take care of him. I don’t think I’ve gone longer than 15 minutes without holding him. He’s pretty much become another appendage at this point.

P.S. Thank you all for the kind wishes on my last post about rejection. I think it’s something we all have to deal with from time to time, and I’m grateful for your support. Having a sick babe really put it all in perspective for me: career stuff is small potatoes next to my fam.