It Really is 20/20

This morning I went to get Cameron up for the day and found him sitting in his crib in his own vomit. This would explain the moaning and crying he was doing in his sleep last night, which I attributed to other things in my sleepy stupor and thus, did not go to him. Of course, I felt horrible but I set down my "Worst Mother of the Year" award*, plucked him out, and got him in the tub. He seemed to be in a good mood so I thought that maybe this was all due to the fact that we were traveling home from Gramma's last night and we pumped him full of snacks because he was crabby during the ride. Hindsight, of course, tells me that he was crabby for a reason, but I digress.


After I gave him a bath, I went to get a towel, which was literally 1 step and 1 second away from the bathtub. I turned around to see Cameron bending over the tub, sliding out head first. I caught his slippery legs so that he didn't do a complete face plant into the floor but his head still hit. Luckily it hit the rug instead of directly on the ceramic tile. Finding it difficult to hold a wet, slippery, screaming child all while holding my prestigious award, I once again set it down and did my best to calm him down and dry him off.


Still thinking the puking was due to the whole give-him-whatever-he-wants-to-make-him-happy car ride, I fed him some breakfast. He didn't eat much of it, which I thought might mean he had the flu but he was still in a decent mood. He continued to play and whine throughout the morning. But was he whining because he was sick, because he slept horribly because he was covered in his own vomit, or because his loving mother dropped him on his head? Again, in hindsight I really should have figured out the answer to this question much earlier than I did.

It was only after I fed him some crackers and pears for lunch, all of which he projectile-vomited nearly instantly after he ate it, that I came to the conclusion that he was, indeed, sick. So off to the tub we went again, where I spent the next 10 minutes trying to peel the icky clothes off him while I repeatedly yelled at Owen to stay away because I didn't want to have to deal with TWO sick kids.

He was a happy little camper in the tub and seemed to forget the tragedy which occured in there just 4 hours earlier--clearly one of my favorite things about kids. He took a nearly 4 hour nap (another fave of mine) and was even happy and smiling when he woke up! I am hoping that we have seen the worst of it and things will only go up from here.

*This is an imaginary award that my 2 best friends and I jokingly pass around to each other every time we do something that makes us feel like a bad mom. Not that I wish bad mothering on any woman, or any child for that matter, but I can safely say that after today I am ready to pass the award back to one of them for awhile.