It’s 7:15 AM and it has already been a long day. Ben decided to get up at 5:15. He doesn’t understand daylight savings time apparently. After a bottle and fairly gnarly diaper change we settled in for some serious Curious George time (I try to let Kim sleep in on the weekends. I’m a wonderful person). That’s when the blinking red light on my Blackberry set off my purely pavlovian compulsion to check my mail.
Wiley had texted me for a pick up. If you know Wiley, you’ll know how sick he’s been lately. His yet undiagnosed illness is characterized by cycles of uncontrollable vomiting that usually last 3-4 days and end with us taking a trip to the ER when the dehydration really sets in. It is not cool. (Full details are available on his blog).
Anyway, I was prepped for some hard core puking while I drove since that’s how things go when I drive Wiley lately. I loaded up Ben and headed out about about 5:30 AM across town to Silver Lake. I figured I’d take the boy and let Kim sleep in. That’s where things went horribly wrong.
About 5 minutes on the freeway, Ben pukes. Everywhere. For a while. There is no smell quite like semi-digested milk. Being the good parent I am, I figured we probably had another round or two in our immediate future and continued on to Wiley’s apartment. By the time we got there, he was covered.
When people talk about having kids, they always tell you how magical and fulfilling it is. They’re lying to you. Or at least glossing over what it’s really like (I’m not sure if this behavior is some sort of instinctual drive to help perpetuate the species, or if all parents secretly hate/resent the childless). I find that a lot of parenthood revolves around being wrist deep in things that are awful. And there’s screaming. It’s good they’re cute or they’d be in serious trouble.
So I pulled up a Wiley’s and had him bring down paper towels. Here’s where it got tricky. Wiley is on a vomit bender and has a hair trigger when it comes to smells. Ben is covered in baby puke which is like the atomic bomb of puke smell. I had to quickly wipe down and strip the baby while and unsteady Wiley waited away from the car. Did I mention that parenthood involves being wrist deep in schmutz?
The ride home was surprisingly uneventful. Thankfully no one decided to grace the car with any more bile. Now we’re all back at my house trying to keep it together. Ben is watching Pooh playing with blocks after a bath. Wiley is sacked out in our bed looking like hell. I’m drinking copious amounts of coffee. I’ll be shocked if there isn’t another hospital trip in our future. Bah.
