There was once a time in my life when the snap of a latex glove meant I was about to engage in some lurid act of sex. Something positively fringe.
That is no longer the case.
Now I wear them if I'm about to stain some vintage looking piece of furniture I picked up at a thrift store, or I wear them to clean vomit.
This morning as I slipped my hands into the familiar gloves, it was to clean up vomit.
It all started last night somewhere around 2:00 AM when Boss Lady climbed into my bed whimpering and burping up all kinds of awful (you are so jealous of me, I can tell) and carrying with her the distinct smell of a five year old that's about to lose her cookies. If you don't have kids and therefore don't know what the hell I'm talking about, let me explain this potent perfume: it's equal parts sour milk, rotten fruit and Lucky Charms.
Where there's smoke there's fire, and when there's this smell there's vomit. Ten minutes later she's face down in the toilet and I'm holding her hair, rubbing her back and cooing like a pigeon in my daughter's ear.
What I didn't know was that she had already hurled in her bedroom. I didn't find that out until about 8:00 this morning after it had cooked all night thanks to the heater that I left on.
Oh.My.Gaaawwwd.
When you combine partially digested pasta with a room set at a comfortable 68 degrees, what you get is cookie dough. Puke patties.
"Why didn't you tell me you got sick in your room?" I ask her this as my hands start to sweat and I consider just throwing the whole fucking bed away or burning it in my neighbor's yard.
"I didn't make it to the bathroom. Can I have some cereal?"
"I don't think that's such a good idea." I say this to her but what I mean is No, you can't ever eat solid foods again. In fact, I'll be putting all future meals in the food processor and you'll sip it through a straw because Mommy doesn't like picking up chunks of food that were once in your stomach but are now all over your bed and the carpet.
"Oh, and Mom ...."
"Yes ..."
"I also frew-up in the heater."
9 comments:
OMG! There is nothing worse that vomit in the heater. Kids have a vomit projectile system that aims at any heat source, floor vent, bed linen, or clothing article within shooting distance. How do they do that? Is it an evil enchantment placed on them before birth by their grandparents? That whole, "I hope your kids are just like you." thing?
To say the least, I feel your pain.
@Forgotten - I love that you can feel my pain but I'd love it more if you were here to clean the vomit from the heater.
IN the heater?!? Christ. I thought I had it bad when I stepped in a log of cold kitty hurl. You win. I'm so not feeling your pain if it involves helping in clean up. Hells no. I feel nothing but buzzed from my vino. But in the most supportive way possible, of course.
BARF...that is awful. I'd be like you are confined to your room until you have learned your lesson miss...And no I don't have kids so I can totally do that!
Ooh, I refer to the distinct smell of imminent projectile vomit as "the burnt chestnut". Sickly sweet, sour and wrong. One whiff and I'm screetching and running at Steve Prefontaine speeds to make sure they hit the toilet instead of the walls and linens. Nothing says scullery maid like hosing down the walls with bleach in the a.m.
I have 3 under 3. All of which went through a 48-hour stomach bug one right after the other. Seven days of vomit and six comforter/sheet sets later, I was really glad I had my mom's steam cleaner for the couch. The walls are still shaking in fear and the mop head had to be replaced. I think I have PTSD from the whole ordeal. I'd trade you three with diarrhea/vomiting that can't tell you they don't feel good for your one that can next time. lol
OMFG. That sucks monkey balls. Kids are great, no? I remember I was in summer camp once.. on the top bunk. I leaned over the bunk in the middle of the night and puked from the top. Rolled over and went back to sleep. What the fuck was I thinking. And yes I know that vomit smell.
vomit and diarrhea. sour nasty awfulness. cooked overnight: insurmountable.
Holy effing hell! IN the heater? That is nasty. I know the economy sucks and all, but I think you have to throw that heater away. Even if you get it all out, you'll know it was there and smell it. Gag...
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