Reverb10 ~ Moment

December 3 – Moment.
Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).
(Author: Ali Edwards)

 

Why do these rooms always have to be so sterile looking?  The white walls were making my "I haven't slept in over 20 hours" headache worse.  An iron smell floated through the air, and was beginning to make Squish anxious.  He was flushed and lethargic, and for the time being cuddled into my chest.

I sat there waiting and waiting and waiting.  Wasn't this supposed to be a rush order?  Maybe Squish would take a fruit pouch.  As I dug it out of my diaper bag, which was sitting right next to me, I couldn't help but wish my Hubs was here to help us.

Squish perked up for a moment, smiled (something I hadn't seen in well over 32 hours), and opened his mouth in anticipation of the fruity treat.  While he was eagerly sucking away at the pouch, I mentally patted myself on the back for remembering to pack this fruit pouch. 

Just as I was feeling like I was getting a handle on the situation, Squish sat up in my arms, looked up at me with his sad, sick eyes, and proceeded to vomit the entire contents of that fruit pouch back up all over my chest, sweater, arms, and himself.  Oh wonderful, nothing like the smell of stomach acid to mix with the sweetness of the fruit.

As the random eyes in the waiting room peered over to see what that strange noise was, some looked disgusted, some sympathetic, others tried to appear like they were not looking, but I knew they all saw what had happened, and I knew they were all just going to sit there instead of offering to help.

I didn't panic, I wasn't upset, I knew I could deal with this.  I dug deep into the bag, and pulled out a extra pair of footed jamjams I had also remembered to pack the night before when we headed out at 12am.  Along with the jamjams I grabbed my wet bag and two cloth diapers.  I stripped the Squish down to his diaper, placed him on an empty chair, wiped the vomit off my chest, sweater, and everywhere else I could manage. 

I dropped the offending cloths into the wet bag and swiftly zipped it up with the vomit encrusted jamjams.  I quickly placed Squish into the new jamjams, zipped them up, returned the wet bag to the diaper bag, grabbed a few wipes to clean off a little further with.  

Not two minutes had passed, and as I was settling down with a warm yet shivering baby cuddled back into my arms with a blanket that had thankfully missed contamination, I heard a rough voice shout out our name.

As we walked back, the smell of iron got thicker, and mixed with the distinct smell of rubber. The next few minutes were extremely unpleasant.  And yet, as my arms surrounded my son to hold him still for the moment, I knew I was not only doing what was best for my son, but I was also being a good mother.  As the needle left Squishy's soft arm, I had a weird sense of accomplishment.  This was so different from the fearful parent I was just a year ago. 

Despite my severe lack of sleep I felt alive.  I felt confident in the choices I was making for my sick son.  He needed me, and I was there, organized, and not anxious.  The last time Squish was this sick, my Hubs was also on deployment.  I questioned every choice and instinct I had.  I was not confident.  I didn't know how to parent on my own.  This was so different from the time before.  I knew that we could make it through these deployments.  I knew I was an advocate for my son.  I knew what he needed, and I got it done.

As we walked out of the laboratory towards the car I was happy to be heading home, away from the sterile white walls, away from Mommy self-doubt, and towards a comfy bed, and a short nap.