Mom I threw up
Words no woman wants to hear at 2 am. They are especially undesirable this evening as the exhaustion from a day of celebration had sunk into my bones, begging for some rest. But a mothers work is never done. I quickly clamp my hand over my eldest sons mouth, knowing he lacks any volume control--especially when ill--and my 7 month old was just a floor creak away from a middle of the night feeding.
Living room. Now. I whisper and quietly close my bedroom door behind me--only then realizing that I'd just clamped my hand over the mouth of someone who had just vomitted moments before. Not a comforting thought.
I ushered him to the bathroom to begin the scrub down. It was not a pretty sight. My brain still waking up, I became a woman of few words. Brush teeth. Shower. I'll go clean. I grunt and head down to my punishment. I must have done something wrong somewhere along the line to deserve this. The smell alone makes me gag and I haven't even entered the room. It permeates every inch of the basement and I wonder how my other three children have slept through this. Especially when my light shines on the offensive mess mere inches from the bottom bunk where my six year old sleeps peacefully.
Lucky boy.
I use all of my mommy power to avoid gagging as I throw paper towel after paper towel into the grocery sack. Our black German shepherd sits nearby watching, hoping I might leave some behind. Not a chance.
The can of disinfectant is emptied around the room, surprisingly still not waking my son with its hissing. Connors bed is made quickly, his old linens distributed into the washing machine as I make my way back to my sons side with a clean pair of pjs. He returns to bed and the waiting game begins.
These are the nights when I contemplate my life. FIVE children! What was I thinking? How did I come to this point? I never thought ten years ago that I would be reduced to middle of the night laundry maid. I have a college degree. I had an excellent job. And I gave it all up for this?
Yes.
For the "Mommy" in the night.
My life is not glamorous. I am enslaved to an infant who demands my attention during his every waking moment. His older sisters think my shower time is the best time to discuss their personal problems. His older brothers follow me around with Lego creations, insects, lizards, and vehicles and expect constant affirmation. Private time is non-existent and it is hit or miss whether I will actually get sleep.
But there are those "Mommy"ies.
I'M the one they want. When there is a problem, mommy can fix it. Mommy is there to listen, to cuddle, to care. Mommy is fought over. To them, I am a prize. I am special. There is no one else they would rather come to. Sure they have Daddy and he is great, but he's not "Mommy."
But then again...Daddy gets to sleep through the night...
