Projectile Vomiting


Projectile Vomiting: vomiting that is sudden and so vigorous that the vomitus is forcefully projected to a distance

According to Merriam-Webster the first known use of the words Projectile Vomiting was in 1862.  Makes you wonder what was happening on that day.  On our day when the vomitus started flying we were eating dinner with friends.  Thankfully they are all parents so there was only one projectile vomiter and that was Noah.

We were all sitting around the table and Noah and the other kids were playing. He may have started fussing a bit and that is why Erin picked him up; I am not really sure.  The next thing I know he is throwing up what he had just eaten. Somehow he ended up in my lap along with a fair amount of puke, and then I was holding more puke in my hand while all of us just sat there.  I was staring at my hand full of puke trying to figure out what I was going to do with it, and our friends were staring at me in disbelief. A year ago if something like this would have happened I would have had to beat feet out of the room so that I would not throw up myself; luckily for me and everyone else, it appears the puke switch is turned off when you become a parent.  There was vomit everywhere, on our clothes, the floor, the table, my foot.  So we stripped down Noah to his diaper, changed our clothes and cleaned up the mess. Then we carried on with our conversation and our dinner as if nothing had happened, until it happened again.  We changed our clothes, cleaned up the mess and got Noah ready for a bath. Our friends, having had enough of the dinner show, left us with some brownies. After two more episodes of upchucking we decided it was time to call the doctor.  We were told what to do and also that we were about the tenth call of the evening on this subject, an ominous statement.  I hung up and relayed the information to Erin. Then I called our friends to spread the word that everyone may be tossing their cookies in the next couple of hours.

At a loss as to what to do we fell back on our nightly routine; we read a story, sang the goodnight song and soon Noah and I were rocking peacefully in the dark until he threw up again, covering both of us and shooting his pacifier across the floor. After another change of clothes and a check to make sure Mr. Monkey had missed the onslaught of regurgitated strawberry flavored Pedialyte, we were back to rocking in the dark. No more fluid, we decided, as clearly Noah’s stomach had not yet settled itself[i]. The rest of the night passed with relative calm, though Erin did not sleep much because she was so worried; her worrying is always compounded because of her profession.  Noah woke up a few times, but only long enough to get a small drink and then go back to sleep.

[i]According to the doctor babies can only settle their stomachs on their own. Giving them fluid will not help; it will only make it worse.  Giving a baby fluid right away is the biggest mistake parents make with a vomiting baby.

Looking Forward To Fridays


On Fridays we put Noah into daycare.  This may sound a little strange, but we do have good reasons.  The first is that we want him to have time interacting with other children.  The second is that it’s easier to get errands done.  Now that I have justified our reasoning to make myself feel a little less guilty, I will tell you that the main reason is so that I can have a break, and I really look forward to that.

I start forming a plan in my mind as to what I want to accomplish starting on Saturday of the previous week.  Generally the list contains projects left over from the last Friday because no matter how focused I am, my list is often too long.  For example last week’s list looked like this:
1. Design, carve and print logo (all by hand)
2. Scan and upload onto website
3. Write two post s
4. Print monkeys for Noah’s birthday party (by hand)
5. Various studio improvements
To help accomplish all these items I completely ignore house work of any kind. I can justify this because I work in my studio, located a couple hundred feet from the back door. I tell myself this is like being at work, and if I were at work, I could not do the dishes or mow the lawn.   This reasoning has worked thus far, though I suspect that once we lose Noah in the grass I will have to address the lawn mowing.

Noah has been going to daycare for about a month now, and I am still not used to not having him around. This past week I kept thinking that I needed to get his lunch together and while working in my studio I kept looking around for the monitor.  If I go somewhere, a glance in the rearview mirror is always followed by a shock because there is no little face looking back at me.  I love this time where I only need to worry about the project at hand, but I still feel guilty for planning my Fridays a week in advance, and I feel guilty for putting Noah in daycare. Part of me even feels as if I am giving up.  The only way I can move past these feelings is to tell myself on a daily basis that I need to take care of myself so I can better care for Noah. I do not want to become a worthless unmovable lump on the couch.

My list for next week is much shorter than this past week’s list, but I still have a few more days to add to it.  I know, though, that the excitement of a day all to myself can never compare to the excitement at the end of that day when Noah first sees me and, with a huge smile on his face, crawls over to me as fast as he can and sticks his arms in the air to be picked up.



Without Rest Our Nights Grievous

Noah slept through the night on Tuesday, and Wednesday was sheer bliss.   We were so proud of ourselves that I wrote about our problem solving skills.(link).  Now I am writing about how we were oh so wrong.   We thought we had it figured out so we started a bedtime routine that included a snack. The routine went smoothly, but very early Thursday morning  I found myself sitting in the dark again looking  at  a mediocre movie on the tiny screen of my IPod when it occurred to me that this was yet another thing I was wrong about. Bad movies at two in the morning can only take away the pain of being awake for so long, about two days. Then they just become even worse movies because you are watching them when you really want to be sleeping.  By Thursday night we started to turn on each other, like poorly scripted actors in bad horror movie we were arguing in the dark about things that did not matter, even at that moment.  We had reached the end of our ropes.  Neither one of us could sit up with him any longer and so we lay there, flat on our backs with our eyes scrunched shut, trying to sleep as he screamed and screamed for forty minutes.   When I got up to go the bathroom in the middle of all this (I have a chipmunk sized bladder), I could hear him forlornly sniffing and letting out muted little cries.  It took all of my strength not to go in there; I would have been more comfortable if someone had kicked me in the groin at that moment.

The Collector


He opens the drawer
Grabbing certain containers
Tossing them out

Pushing pieces across the floor
They screech
He smiles

Some are thrown over the gate
He Laughs
Goes back for more

While picking up
I discover

Dog’s squeaker toy
Shot record
Doctor’s business card

Tucked safely
Among the Tupperware