Let’s set the stage…
Final night of camping. All 5 of us snugly squeezed into our tent.
Approximately 2:30 a.m. (because who really knows what time it is when you’re camping?!)
Suddenly I hear the rustling of a child. Then the splatter. Then “Ohhh nooo, I threw up! Daddy! Daddy, I threw up!”
And people, we’re not talking a little puke. We’re talking singe the nose hairs, burn the eyes, curdled apple pie chunks puke. If you’re not gagging reading that, you’re a SAINT because I’m having some PTSD just thinking about it.
That’s when my husband sprung into action. It was like a flash of lightening he was up, baby wipes in hand gently comforting my barf covered six year old.
I don’t do puke guys. I can handle cleaning the remains, but the initial chunky bits… no. just no. I tap out. ALLL THE WAY OUT.
I will not lie, I used the fact that Baby Dude was currently sleep nursing to roll over, wrap my hoodie around my face and lay there trying to hide my gag reflex.
{side note: Praise JESUS little sister just snoozed right through all of this!}
So as I chickened out, my sweet husband became a superhero. He had everything I could think of in a matter of seconds. He was much more prepared than I could have been. He bundled up all the barfy blankets, got our girl a bag, cleaned her up, and got her out of her gnarly clothes.
After getting the big stuff done, he went out, started a fire and sat with our bundled up urpey kiddo while I cleaned up the smell. Thank heavens for Thieves Household Cleaner from Young Living! We always keep a bottle mixed with Vinegar with us and I am SO happy we do. The tent smelled FANTASTIC after I attacked it with that magical potion.
As I cleaned, I listened to them talk, and my heart melted. E was so discouraged. She kept saying she had ruined the camping trip and she made it the worst day ever. But my dear, sweet husband assured her that she did no such thing. He told her all the things she did right to keep the mess to a minimum and by then end of their chat she felt much better (emotionally speaking).
As we (apprehensively) settled into the tent to try to go back to sleep (yeah, right!) he reached over, grabbed my hand and said “You’re a great mama.” What the what?! Me, Captain Chicken Gaggy Pants…?! No sir, no.
You are Superman and I don’t even care how cheesy that sounds! Even when the puke happens again, and again… and again. I’m thankful to be vomit schlepping with you.
