STRAWBERRY VOMITS FOREVER
Just when I was coming to terms with all the poop.
We rarely take our cat in the car. The once yearly trip to the vet. Holiday break in Maine. And occasionally out to my parents in New Jersey. I'd love to take him everywhere I go (yes I realize that is crazy), but he gets severe motion sickness and ends up throwing up almost every time. It sucks for everyone. For him because being sick sucks. For me because cleaning up vomit sucks. Recently we've smartened up and he gets a pill to help calm his stomach and I cover the backseat in wee wee pads and paper towels. Thanksgiving he puked 5 minutes into the ride. This last trip he waited an hour, made me think he was okay, then just when I let my guard down, got sick in the one corner not covered by the paper towels and wasn't pleased when I tried to pull him onto them mid-puke.
Luckily thus far my puke-cleaning experience has been purely feline related. Nathan wasn't really a spitter-upper. There was only one time when he was a baby that he projectile vomited his milk all over like a demon. I'd never seen anything like that before. The range and sheer volume of liquid that came out of him was insane. I literally didn't know what to do. But since then he's been laser focused on making messes out of his other end. Until now.
The other night he was casually squawking in his crib at about 11:30 pm, so I quietly went in to check on him and see if he wanted a pacifier. As I was leaning over his crib and handing it to him, the unmistakeable smell hit me. Vomit. I will admit in the dark at first I thought it was poop, because this is just what we do in our house, but when I turned on the light, it looked like a virtual crime scene. Bright red strawberry vomit all over his white sheets. All over his onesie. All over his face. He was shellshocked and cowering in the opposite corner of his crib. I was shellshocked for a moment, then immediately sprung into action by pretending to remain calm (which I wasn't), calling for my husband, and triaging the situation.
Of all the things for the kid to throw up, it had to be berries? Which are basically dye.
First we needed to clean up the munchkin whose face, hands, and pajamas were covered in nasty red puke. Then I needed to tend to the bed situation. I immediately removed the sheet, replaced it with a new one, and began my usual baby stain removal technique. Unfortunately my patented poop cleaning method seemed not to be working so well for regurgitated berry juice. So with not much luck I gave up, threw it in the wash, and came to terms with saying sayonara to those sheets. Then and only then did I think it might be smart to ask the Google what to do. Just as I was realizing I apparently should have used white vinegar to remove berry stains, and wondering why the heck I hadn't taken a picture of it for the blog, I heard Nathan gagging upstairs.
"There's an old saying in Tennessee, I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee, that says, 'fool me once, shame on, shame on you. Fool me, you can't get fooled again.'" - GW Bush
It happened again. Right on the new white sheet I put down and all over his new clean pajamas. This time I got you a photo, not that you wanted it.
Why hadn't I considered this outcome? I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So I chose curse. I can't keep putting down clean sheets and having him throw up all over them. Am I supposed to just leave him there in his filth until he's done? How will I know when he's done? Like deja vu, we cleaned him up and changed his pajama shirt. I took off the sheet, tossed it in the laundry and threw in half a bottle of white vinegar, which by the way, vinegar and vomit are 2 of the smells that make me violently recoil. This time we decided instead of putting on another sacrificial white sheet, we'd use a dark navy bath sheet towel (sorry Mom, I'll get you a new one) and tuck it into the corners of his crib. At least this would be easier to clean. He proceeded to throw up on that 3 times, which I wiped up, and then right when I put down some wee wee pads, he fell asleep puke-free. Clearly neither of my boys could ever just make my life easier and puke on the wee wee pads right? Right? That'd be too easy...