(no subject)
You don't want to read this entry. I shall write it anyway because you've gotta whine somewhere, sometimes. But unless you're inclined to sympathize with a parent, and willing to read about gross stuff babies do, avoid. Believe me, no offense will be taken.
Projectile vomit. Right down my cleavage. Well, right down my front for the first wave (all down my shirt, and yes I mean inside the shirt as well as outside, plus she got my legs), and then she turned her head and got everything else on the couch. Which was still made up for a guest, as we had a guest last night, so the total vomitted damage was me, my clothing (including underwear), duvet cover, sheet, couch pillow, couch itself, part of the back wall, the pillowcases, plus the dampness went through to other things as well...WHERE IN THE HELL WAS SHE KEEPING THAT MUCH VOMIT WHAT THE FUCK!!?!?!?!?!?!?!
She'd just had a bath, too. Sob.
She's fine, before you wonder, she's not sick (despite evidence to the countrary). She's chipper as anything now that that's done with. She'd just been taking her last bottle of the night and was about to settle on my shoulder, and she let out a burp, and I said "Please don't vomit in my cleavage, kid," which I say sometimes because it's a ahzard of babies but usually just possetting and even that not for weeks and weeks, and THEN...! Darn it, we had a gentlemen's agreement! Except, er, we're not gentlemen. BUT STILL. And of course now she has lots of energy instead of wanting to go to sleep, because of all the excitement, and Chris and I are looking at her in despair.
In conclusion, all babies contain wormholes to dimensions of infinite poop and infinite vomit, and we deal with them at our own risk.
To our houseguests coming on Wednesday I swear to god it'll all be VERY clean before you get here.
Projectile vomit. Right down my cleavage. Well, right down my front for the first wave (all down my shirt, and yes I mean inside the shirt as well as outside, plus she got my legs), and then she turned her head and got everything else on the couch. Which was still made up for a guest, as we had a guest last night, so the total vomitted damage was me, my clothing (including underwear), duvet cover, sheet, couch pillow, couch itself, part of the back wall, the pillowcases, plus the dampness went through to other things as well...WHERE IN THE HELL WAS SHE KEEPING THAT MUCH VOMIT WHAT THE FUCK!!?!?!?!?!?!?!
She'd just had a bath, too. Sob.
She's fine, before you wonder, she's not sick (despite evidence to the countrary). She's chipper as anything now that that's done with. She'd just been taking her last bottle of the night and was about to settle on my shoulder, and she let out a burp, and I said "Please don't vomit in my cleavage, kid," which I say sometimes because it's a ahzard of babies but usually just possetting and even that not for weeks and weeks, and THEN...! Darn it, we had a gentlemen's agreement! Except, er, we're not gentlemen. BUT STILL. And of course now she has lots of energy instead of wanting to go to sleep, because of all the excitement, and Chris and I are looking at her in despair.
In conclusion, all babies contain wormholes to dimensions of infinite poop and infinite vomit, and we deal with them at our own risk.
To our houseguests coming on Wednesday I swear to god it'll all be VERY clean before you get here.