Today’s post is way gross, people.
You have been warned.
Here on Pretty All True, you get what you get. It’s not all happy rainbows and flowers, people.
When Maj was between the ages of 3 and 5, she would occasionally have night terrors. For those of you unfamiliar with these joyful things, I can only tell you what they were like in my particular child.
I would put Maj to sleep, and about two hours after she fell asleep, there would be a scream. Not just a scream, but a horror-movie scream. You know the one . . . just as the crazy psycho-killer is about to stab and slash the life out of a beautiful blond girl . . . she screams.
My beautiful blond girl would scream like that . . . a long, shrill, panic-filled, shrieking, terrified scream. A scream to fill the house and stop my heart.
So the house would fill and my heart would stop, and I would race down the stairs and into Maj’s room. She would be flailing and screaming, her eyes wide open, her arms and legs all stiff.
But she was not awake.
At all.
I would push her gently back down into her bed, talk soothingly, rearrange her covers, and sit with her for a few minutes until she was calm.
She slept through all of this.
In the morning, she would remember nothing at all about the night terrors. If she remembered anything, it was only that I had visited her in the middle of the night for no apparent reason.
This didn’t happen every night, but it happened often enough that I started getting used to the screaming. I would still sit upright in bed, my heart pounding. But instead of going down to check on her every time, I would listen to the baby monitor.
It turned out that a lot of times? She didn’t need me. She would scream and flail as though she was being attacked for perhaps 15-20 seconds, but then she would roll over and continue sleeping as though nothing had happened. She slept through all of her terror. And in the morning, she remembered nothing at all.
So on this particular night, she screams wildly at about 11:00 pm, just as Mark and I are going to bed. I listen, and she quiets down, and so I do not go down to check on her. She screams again at about 12:30, but again, after several piercing screams, she quiets down. And I go back to sleep.
And then she screams again at 3:00 am. Only this time, the screaming is continuous and throaty and different somehow. As I come fully awake, I realize that she is screaming for me, which she never does in her night terrors. And I realize she is awake and scared out of her mind.
So I race downstairs and fling open her door.
Maj is weeping and wailing and screaming. She is wide awake. She is terrified.
And she is covered in vomit.
During her two earlier night terrors? She has thrown up. Thrown up all over her bed and her pillow and her blankets and herself . . . without waking up. Each time, she laid back down and slept in a pool of her own vomit.
I try to comfort her, talking calmly as I assess the damage. It is almost beyond belief. Her long blond hair (which hangs to the middle of her back) now hangs in dreadlocks of barf. Some of it is dry and sticking out away from her head at crazy angles. Her face is covered, and one eye is glued shut. Her ears and nose are filled. Her arms are encrusted with dried bits of horror. There is slime and ooze and bits of half-digested food everywhere I look.
And the stench is overwhelming and horrific.
And her arms are outstretched. And she is hysterical with fear.
There is nothing to do but hug her.
And so I do.
“OK, babe . . . listen, babe. You didn’t know you had barfed?”
“I didn’t barf! Who did this, Mommy? I didn’t barf!”
“Oh, sweetie, I think this is all you. OK, this is really bad, and we have to get you cleaned up, OK?”
She is weepy and incredulous, “I barfed?”
“Yes, sweetie.”
“OK.”
I reach behind her to pull her nightgown off of her body and over her head. This task is made difficult by the fact that in places? Her clothing has dried and stuck to her. And in other places? There are puddles waiting to dump themselves . . . everywhere.
Maj is shivering uncontrollably. Partly from fear, and partly because the congealed horror of vomit that covers her? Is freezing cold.
There is so much barf.
I strip as well, and we both step into the shower.
And as soon as the warm water hits Maj’s face? She throws up again. Not so much substance this time, but it is horrible and slimey and all over my legs and feet.
Sigh.
We spend almost 45 minutes in the shower. Scooping and prying and wiping and scrubbing the vomit away. Plucking the largest chunks out of her hair with our fingers, and then shampooing and shampooing and shampooing and shampooing.
Maj is miserably unhappy, but she does not cry.
Shower drains? They are not made to deal with this stuff. I scoop and toss handfuls of drain-caught yuck into the nearby toilet as we go.
And then finally. Finally. She is clean.
I wrap her in a huge fluffy towel and sit her on the bathroom counter.
“If you have to barf again, be sure to lean over the sink, OK?”
“OK.”
I grab a large garbage bag and strip her bed. Gather her pillow, her stuffed animals, her pajamas. Stuff everything in a single Hefty bag and carry it out to the garage.
I will deal with that tomorrow.
Wash my hands in the garage sink.
Gather up a forlorn and sad-eyed Maj and bring her to bed with me.
In the guest room.
Mark is not the sort to welcome barf into the bedroom.
But me? I am Mom.
And sometimes barf comes with the territory.
Poor Maj and you. Mine have thrown up in their sleep and not realized it, and I would feel so bad that I did not know. Never that much but still they needed me and I missed it.
Yes, it was spectacular.
The only thing that kept me from feeling hideously guilty was the fact that as soon as she knew there was a problem? I was there.
Good point
OMG did she know before this that she was having the night terrors?
Poor Maj! And you, that’s the icks.
We had talked about her night terrors, but as she never remembered them, she never cared.
After this episode? She was much more curious about what else she might be doing in the middle of the night without realizing it.
awww *hugs to you for being a Mom*
Also this totally made me think of my Mom, she dealt with some really gross puke episodes from me as a kid. When I told her about some of my “adventures” in my nursing she told me she had no idea how I dealt with “that.” I asked how she dealt with cleaning up after me she said “it’s different, you’re my baby.” So maybe it’s just a Mom skill that turns you into heros no matter the time of night.
I definitely think that’s true.
When there’s a mom emergency?
Who else is going to fix it if not . . . MOM?
oh my…
oh and i’ve been meaning to ask – is maj short for something? and how do you pronounce it?
Maj is just Maj.
And it is pronounced like the Taj in Taj Mahal.
Just Maj.
My husband is a man of steel, but when it comes to vomit.. no go. He cant even handle it when one of the animals does it.
Mom’s really are Superwomen. We can seem to handle it all when it comes to our children.
I showed this post to one of my readers who has become a friend (Adrienne – Ms. No Style Points), and she laughed and encouraged me to post the story.
I showed this post to my husband? And he cringed and suggested I write something else.
Adrienne’s vote carried more weight on this occasion.
Because she is a Mom.
I truly believe Mark wanted to you write about something else so that no one would notice he wasn’t there helping you clean up! I still love you Mark and I’m waiting by the phone for you to call to tell me off.
Mark gets squeamish if you say the word barf. Or make a little throw-up noise in the back of your throat (the girls tease him all the time). Or if one of the pets starts heaving.
Mark is good for many things, but this particular emergency? Not so much.
How is the recuperating husband?
We miss him!
Jensen has had night terrors since he was born. Nothing is more terrifying then to hear your newborn scream bloody murder in his sleep. He rarely does it now thank God. You are a great mom. I am so not the vomit hugging type, I strip Jensen first lol!
I am not the vomit-hugging sort either, but in this instance . . . where Maj was terrified and believed that someone else had come in and barfed all over her?
A hug was in order.
“I didn’t barf! Who did this, Mommy? I didn’t barf!”
Awww that is the saddest line ever. How horrible must be it be to wake up covered in vomit and think that someone/something else vomited on you in your sleep!
Happily, the night terror stage of Maj’s life passed without another incident like this.
Once was more than enough.
OH. MY. GOD. I thought I had good puke stories. Not so much.
Gross? No. This gave me a new perspective on you as a mommy. It might be gross to people who don’t have to clean up after children, but not to me. I thought this was a wonderful post. You are an INCREDIBLE mother. Especially for handling that with such grace. You’re a bigger man than I am, because I would have been puking right along with her in that shower.
Thank you for this. I feel like I’ve gotten a peek at another side of the Kris we all know and love. And holy shit, you are quite the wordsmith. I’m right there with you as I read. Kudos.
I did not barf. Although I remember having a few stomach-heaving moments, I did not barf.
My stomach is not that sensitive to that stuff anymore. Especially if it’s my own kids. If someone else’s kid throws up?
Ewwwwww.
OMG I could feel the emotion welling up in Maj as you describe her panic at the idea that someone else had ralphed on her in her sleep. Poor thing!
I hate that more than anything in the world — seeing panic or fear on my daughters’ faces.
Hate that.
Is this why you don’t like showers? After a shower like this I don’t think I would like them either.
That would be funny if that were true!
But I have always hated showers. Although this night did little to change my mind about them.
Because this was a Silkwood sort of moment. And those moments require showers.
Duuuude. I know all the moms are right there with you – when there is puke and your baby needs you, you just have to do what you have to do. Michael is useless in the face of vomit as well. He probably would have shrieked in horror and run back to bed going, “Nuh-uh, I can’t deal with that.”
Mark has shrieked in horror.
You know what else he hates and shrieks about? Blood.
Did I mention Maj used to get huge nosebleeds? In the middle of the night?
So fun.
Poor Maj, I bet the whole thing was just so terrifying for her! I can;t even imagine. And you — you are such an amazing mom!!!
In moments like that, it doesn’t feel like a make a conscious decision to be a good or bad mom. I just do what has to be done, and freak out later.
Although I had to call a friend to freak out, because Mark waved me away with crabby horrified silencing hands when I tried to share the story with him,.
Okay, this was so not horrible. This shows the sensitive mom side of you. And it’s a great post. I have a similar one like this posted on my blog. Only it was an entire night of vomiting by my baby that went ignored. And I woke up to not only vomit, but diarrhea as well. And it as soon as I got him clean in the bath, it happened again. It was TERRIBLE. And I did it all while bawling my eyes out. LOL
That sounds horrible.
My crying moments in events like that? Only when the girls were babies. Once they were old enough to see my reaction and respond in kind?
I have learned to be more stoic.
Because if I freak out? They freak out.
Why does motherhood have to be so disgusting sometimes?! By the way, I could use another someone said…that one has been up for a while now.
Oh yeah! Let me get another quote up there . . . the in-laws are sucking my time.
A lot.