A Rough Night

As I smile with delight when my 9-month old starts saying "Mama," I remember all too well how ecstatic I was to hear those words with my first son too.  Phrases like, "I love you, Mama," and "You're the best Mama ever," warm the heart and remind you why you wanted to take on the challenge, albeit indescribably rewarding, of being a parent.  As every parent knows, though, there are also times you'd really rather NOT here your title.  "Mama, Mama, Mama, can I watch a cartoon, Mama, Mama???" or anytime "Mama" is preceeded by the words "but" or "no."  There's also the time in the middle of the night I dread . . . about 1:00 am this morning my poor husband ran to the bathroom, clearly in the "throws" of some sort of stomach illness/food poison.  After making sure I couldn't get him anything, I drifted off to sleep with a last thought of, "Well, I'm glad it's just one of us that's sick."  At exactly 2:45 am, I heard the word - "Mama!"   I struggled to gain consciousness, stumbling to find my pants and glasses, hoping I could make it upstairs before his cries woke the baby.  About half-way up the stairs, I began to flashback to my husband and quickly realized it wasn't just one of us that was sick.  As I hit the landing, I heard the dreaded words, "Mama!  I vomited all over my bed!"  Now, anyone who knows me, knows I can clean up just about anything, but I really have a serious physical reaction to that one - it makes me do it too.  I said a little prayer, "God, please let me get through this," and simultaneously repeated the Little Engine's mantra, "I can do this . . . I can do this . . . I can do this."  My sweet husband actually came upstairs with me and pulled our son out of bed so I could help clean the little guy up.  I kept telling myself not to look at the bed, as if some heinous crime had been committed there; one look at the carnage or one whiff would most certainly send me reeling.  I immediately employed the use of fruity-smelling soap to clean off his hands, arms and face, and held my breath while I carefully helped him remove his clothing and put on clean jammies.  I started wrapping the bedding in a "protective" cocoon (and was ever so grateful he'd hardly eaten anything during the day), then I realized the priority should be to get the little guy back to sleep quickly and deal with the mess later.  As I was getting ready to take him downstairs, I could hear my hubby in the bathroom still waging his gut warfare.  I created a makeshift sleeping area in our bedroom downstairs and safely tucked my baby into bed.  My saintly husband managed to bring down the bedding and promised to hose it off today rather than making me deal with it.  I really don't think I've ever loved him more!!!  Everyone managed to drift off to sleep after both patients made a few additional trips to the bathroom, and after my hubby, in his usual sense of humor, asked me to make him a leftover BBQ sandwich from the lunch we'd had earlier.  Twelve hours later, about $40 worth of BBQ is in the trash, both boys are still in bed, baby's sleeping happily, chicken soup is simmering on the stove, and all evidence of last night's drama is gone.  Guess who cleaned off the bedding??  Yep, I did.  Me.  I honestly don't think my husband could have crawled outside to take care of the mess, and having it lurking outside the laundry room just wouldn't do any longer.  The Mama adrenaline and nothing less than the hand of God helped me with that chore, ladies and gentlemen.  Now, I think I'll reward my Super Mommy-ness with a cup of warm coffee (that's actually fresh, not reheated!) and a little time in front of my new sewing machine.  Maybe everyone will sleep for a little longer, right? :-)