It’s been a month since I had to face a day I was dreading for an entire year: the infamous return to work after baby-day. A day where I would bring my son, Jack, my one very true love besides my husband, to a facility – leaving him in the arms of a stranger while I spent my day in a cubicle making money for The Man. Every time I thought about it my heart ached and I cried.
Although I didn’t know what to expect, I assumed it would be terrible.
I assumed my son would spend his entire day yearning for his mommy and I would spend my entire day yearning for wet, open mouth smooches and temper tantrums. But once I saw Jack seated among his new friends, and I sipped a hot coffee without someone trying to pull down my pants, I knew we’d both be okay.
Kidding. Kids are unpredictable. The horror scene that ensued that evening was anything but okay.
Warning: if you’re reading this on your lunch put down the sandwich or bookmark this for later. Shit’s about to get real.
When Jack and I returned home from our big day in the real world, I felt accomplished. The day wasn’t the hell I imagined, and like Gloria Gaynor, we survived. I immediately jumped right back into mom-mode, cooking up a dish of my baby’s favorite ravioli. I had no idea the daycare may have fed him just before I picked him up.
Jack finished everything I made, right down the last drop of tomato sauce.
We squealed, clapped and high fived. We could handle this new chapter in our lives. I scooped up my little love, kissed him on the cheek, and felt something warm travel down my shoulder…back…pants….
What is that? No… NO!
My very full baby projectile vomited his made-with-love meal all over my hair, shoulder, in between my boobs (and well, under them… because they’re totally deflated now #kids) and down my pants. My pregnant self (did I mention I’m 5 months pregnant?) couldn’t contain my dinner and joined him in emptying my tummy. Cue my dog – who decided it was time for his dinner.
Panic.
This has NEVER happened before.
This is SO gross.
The dog is eating vomit.
Jack’s playing with the vomit.
My bare feet are stepping in vomit.
WHERE IS MY HUSBAND?
While holding my breath I peeled my clothes off (back curtains open, giving the neighbors a show), grabbed Jack, left the dog (ew) and ran upstairs to the bath.
My husband walked in THREE minutes after this mess, with twelve missed calls on his phone, to find not one but two babies crying on the bathroom floor, naked, covered in ravioli….and a very happy dog. He laughed, put on the rubber gloves and proceeded to clean up the disaster downstairs.
This my friends, is mom life (parent life).
When you feel like you’ve got it, like you can finally manage all your balls in the air, our precious little beauties never fail to bring us back to reality.
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