Mind Body Mama: Nausea

Warning: Contains copious vomit.

A triumphant cry rang through our house last night: “There was something heavy in my body and it was the throw-up!”

And the entire family reveled in a mass of shimmering red vomit in our downstairs sink.

Now, a normal person—by which I mean, a person without children—would not celebrate a sink full of vomit. But any parent will understand why we were celebrating: because the vomit was not in so many other places it could have been. And has been, as recently as December.

Such as: in my hair, down my back, inside my ear or dripping down the inside of my collar.

What’s even more astonishing is the fact that the December bout of projectile repulsiveness marked its own tremendous milestone. It was the first time in five years of motherhood that I employed my lightning-fast black belt reflexes to remove my child from her bed before she spewed all over it.

I’m not sure if you can call reflexes lightning-fast if they’ve taken over five years to kick in. But I was pretty damned proud that, in the middle of the night, I was able to recognize the green glow about my baby’s face and the vacant, glassy stare in her eyes. With a ninja’s speed I lifted her from the mountainous, if machine-washable, caress of sheets, blankets, pillows and comforters, fully clear of the no-longer rubber-sheeted mattress, so that her stomach contents could land squarely on the wood floor—and the back of my head.

A midnight shower is so much easier than three loads of laundry, agreed?