Last night, Pierce and I got home from work and did our usual eat dinner/change baby Lucy/feed baby Lucy/play with baby Lucy routine. She usually eats again around 8:30 and then goes to bed for the night, but she just wouldn't burp for me. And even though I didn't want her to go to bed with a gassy stomach, it was not happening no matter how hard I tried. I figured she didn't have one in her to give and, hey, that's normal, right? I don't always have to burp after I eat.
(You're not a baby, Wendi.)
Anyway, to help get her settled for bed I read Lucy a story from our children's Bible. She seemed lethargic and, honestly, kind of bored. I tried to get her to smile at me (it doesn't take much...she is one happy girl!) but nothing doing. She wasn't crying or fussy or pulling up her legs, so I felt confident that she was probably just a little worn out from the day.
After I finished reading, I picked Lucy up from the rocker and was on my way to saying a small prayer for her when, suddenly, she vomited her dinner all over me. Three times in a row. So it was probably more like lunch and dinner...and it was projectile...almost like someone had taken three of the biggest bottles we had and poured them all over her chest, blanket, and me. The first time it took me by surprise and, truthfully, kind of scared me. Pierce jumped up to check on us and then she puked again. So he ran to get towels while I tried not to cry and then she did it one more time. It was everywhere. As a mom, the first thing that runs through your mind is, "Oh my God, what is wrong? Is she okay? How can I fix this?" Pierce asked if we should take her to the doctor, but almost immediately after she tossed up all the contents of her stomach she simply looked up at me and grinned. Silly girl.
I guess sometimes we just need to throw up to make the world right again.
There's something about a sick baby that offers everyone a bit of perspective on how little that pile of laundry or that email or that phone call matter. After we recovered from the shock of Lucy's impressive vomiting skills, we filled up her baby tub and gave her a quick bath. I hopped into the big tub, still dressed in my stinky clothes, and cleaned her up. Pierce washed her hair while I poured the water and she seemed to enjoy all the attention. Now that she's almost four months old, Lucy's curiosity about the world keeps her from getting upset about things she once hated...like bath time. When we finished, I picked her up and held her freshly cleaned little body against my shirt. I was a total mess at this point - throw up all over my jeans, hair falling down - but it didn't matter. She was warm and smelled so sweet and I kissed her on the cheek, glad to know she was feeling better and thanking God for this family of ours. Pierce turned to me and said, "I love that you don't even care about your clothes. You just care about her. How could you ever doubt yourself?" It hadn't even occurred to me to care about my clothes; I just wanted Lucy to know we were here and she was safe. But hearing those words from my husband filled my heart with pride.
Maybe I can do this mama thing. And maybe I can do it well.
Also, Miss Lucy has found her feet AND she rolled over for the first time this morning! Go baby girl, go!