Oh this one’s a doozy. Buckle up! And for the love of Pete DeCuyper as we say in our house (Pete’s a good friend of ours!), PLEASE put down the GF cupcakes while reading this. Because dude, throw up and stuff.
As we all know, Facebook and Instagram primarily highlight all of the rainbows and butterflies of life…specifically motherhood. No one puts up photos of when their kid finger paints with poop or hits his Mom or refuses to stay in his bed for a nap. Those are hypothetical examples, of course. Oh no. Only photos of cute, agreeable, level-headed toddlers making good choices and looking adorable doing it. Well not last week, folks. Today I am here to share a disgusting, real life story of throw up on a hotel bed when your husband is (deservedly) out to play.
Why you would continue, I’m not sure. Ha! Pretty sure it’s because I am not alone on this island. (And it ain’t the island of Sodor.)
Max is not a great eater. He has a handful (maybe!) of staple entree and side items for each meal. They are fairly healthy and really this topic is a whole separate post. While away from home though, this not great eater turns into a terrible eater. We, as parents, adjust to survival mode and just make sure the kid gets some calories and not only from Hershey bars. During our Asheville vaca, the kid lived on toast, bananas, and his snack cup of Goldfish and oyster crackers. Yup, all foods that bind you up.
My little man and I went on a date at Double D’s Coffee and Desserts right in downtown Asheville. As y’all know, Max loves trucks, cars, and all vehicles. Like, A LOT a lot.
He was enamored and pretty much in heaven.
You order on the first floor and then either go outside or upstairs. I got myself a drink and Max had some vanilla ice cream (no cookies were without a peanut warning, so boo on that front).
Of course, sitting upstairs was our choice. Little did we know, it was ONE MILLION degrees up there. No air conditioning. Why?! Ugh!
And this is where things started to go south…
That poor, sweet face.
We left Double D’s (just sounds wrong, no?) and Max was looking pretty rough. He was acting clingy, wanting me to hold him and I knew something was up. I thought the backup may be incoming (outgoing?) so I, on a busy city street corner, put a pull up on my boy. I wanted to avoid the mess, if I could help it. Ain’t no shame in my game.
This pregnant Mama carried that sweet boy about half a mile (enough, I promise you) in the hot sun back to the hotel. After being unusually clingy (so sad because I know he didn’t feel well, but I loved the cuddles) this happened at 6:15pm…
At about 8:45pm, little man awoke and was not a happy camper. He was just about crawling out of his skin while I was trying to coax him to just poop it out. Poor buddy. Then, all of a sudden…it happened.
Projectile, exorcist-style vomit. More than I have ever seen come out of his little body, or anyone’s body for that matter (college days, included). I seriously thought it would never end. Secretly, I was trying to plan an escape route. I needed a redo on the night. The vomit needed to GO BACK IN FOR THE LOVE OF PETE (DeCuyper).
After the horror ended, the real horror began. THE CLEAN UP. Luckily, Max felt better. Sadly, he was left screaming, “Get me outta here! Get me outta here!” He did not enjoy the mess that was all over him and his parents’ bed. Oh, did I fail to mention…THIS OCCURRED ON OUR BED?!
I started dumping (yes, dumping) blankets and sheets into the sink while asking Max to just sit still. I changed my clothes and started a bath. I thoroughly cleaned my boy while simultaneously scrubbing his favorite football blanket. Just a little rinse wasn’t going to do it with this feta cheese looking nightmare.
Yup…I went there.
The next hour and a half included keeping Max away from the contamination, getting him settled on his clean toddler blow up mattress (Amen for that!) with the iPad to keep him busy, and working with the hotel staff to get the room back together.
When I called the front desk, I warned them that this was their nightmare call of the night. The poor gentleman who came to help I’d say was ill-prepared…ill-prepared for the extent of the damage, the smell, and how to make a bed (?). After replacing all of the linens and feeling like we somewhat had our lives together, Scott texted that he was on his way home. I responded with this text…
“JUST WAIT until you hear our night. Woowee-it’s been a doozy. Give me all the chips and gf Oreos!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I was proud of myself for not crying uncle hours before. It was now 11:00pm and I was exhausted.
We all cozied in bed while I told of our dreadful night. As I was finally relaxing, it happened. The pregnancy nose kicked in and identified that the wretched smell was still present somewhere. With the husband convinced it was just me, I searched around to find the source (and prove him wrong, of course). And there it was…a spot of residual puke. Ready for this, friends? It seeped UP through the mattress, through the mattress pad, to the fresh bottom sheet.
I ’bout lost my mind!
I told the hubs that I was off duty, but to please take care it. Time check: Midnight. Hubby said he’ll just sleep on top of it. We switched sides of the bed, he threw a towel down, and we called it a night. Yup – totally gross, but totally the truth.
All I have left to say is this…
Do you have a similarly, disgusting Mommy story? Do tell! Did you, too, feel like a hero but still would’ve rather been drinking a margarita?!