I squeezed myself into my size 2 jeans, picked out the cutest floral top you ever did see, and made sure my make-up and hair were perfection. Yep, looking hot! One last spray of over-priced perfume and I was ready! I had just turned 23 and was going out with my best friend to a bar on Capitol Hill. As soon as I arrived at the bar, I locked eyes with the most gorgeous, blue-eyed, dark-haired man that God has ever created (or will ever create, and no, I'm not biased or anything ;)). We made eye contact all night long, played a game of pool, and eventually fell in love.
Flash forward 9 1/2 years later. It was 1:05am, and I looked at myself in the mirror, uncombed tresses with 2 inches of dark roots, no make-up, dark circles under the eyes, and certainly not a size 2 anymore! I looked over at the back of my husband's head and initially started giggling, and before I knew it, I began to laugh hysterically. I am not sure if it was due to pure delirium/exhaustion/stress, or if I just have a sick sense of humor.....but I couldn't stop laughing.
You see, at 1:05am, my husband and I were cleaning chunks of vomit off not only my daughter, but also her sheets and pajamas, FOR THE FIFTH TIME. Yes, you read that right. My daughter, Chelsea, who is a whopping 20 pounds, somehow created about 2 gallons of vomit. It was on/in her bedroom carpet, in her hair, stuffed animals, inside the crib, on the crib, and coated her blankets and sheets. We never prepared for more vomit that night, nope, I was adamant that after each vomit that we should clean everything perfectly, because I mistakenly kept saying "that was DEFINITELY her last vomit of the night." Now I know, tiny human beings can fool you and can create more vomit than a 500 pound man who just gorged himself at a Western Sizzlin' buffet. I now know to always prepare for more vomit in the future. There will be more!
So after lots of laundry and cleaning, there we were at 1:05am, "manning our posts"....me at the bathroom sink for the fifth time to "clean" things coated by vomit, my husband, at the bathtub, to clean our daughter who had been coated by vomit. I looked at the back of my husband's head, and had the image of me at age 23, entering that bar, shaking my tail feather, smelling like sun-ripened rose petals, wearing my finest and meeting the man of my dreams. I quickly reminisced about the amazing years of us dating, getting dressed up, trying to impress one another. Our beautiful wedding and honeymoon. There we were, 9 years later, in a tiny bathroom, both of our clothing covered in bits of vomit, smelling like eau de vomit, and cleaning lots and lots of vomit off of 'stuff', together. I thought to myself, me and my babe, we are co-vomit-cleaners, in our lovely home, which has become a Vomitorium. This partner-in-crime, love-of-my-life, soul-mate of mine, phrases that used elicit passionate feelings about true love, like something out of a Danielle Steel novel, have now been exchanged for new phrases, like my vomit-cleaning-sidekick. I couldn't stop laughing.
If someone could have pulled my husband and I aside the night that we met and provided us with a glimpse of what we'd be doing the night of November 17, 2013, I know for a fact that that young woman would have been completely repulsed and shocked. I feel like I don't even know that young woman from 2004 anymore, the one who was worried about her hair and her make-up. That young woman had no idea what was in store for her, she was clueless about 3 things in particular: how hard and exhausting the job of parenting could be at times, what marriage and love were really about, and exactly how much vomit a tiny person could create. Sadly, my future probably holds more nights of vomit, but as long as I have my vomit-cleaning-sidekick by my side and can keep on laughing, I can make it through that Vomitorium and be just fine!