Dignity Lost
My son turned 2 last week. In honour of the occasion he decided to throw up all over his Mom in the middle of a crowded restaurant during the lunch hour.
We had just spent an hour and a half in the doctor's office in the city awaiting my weekly appointment and my kids were tired and hungry all at once. I was debating where to stop for a quick and yet nutritious lunch when I happened to look back in my rearview mirror...only to see my son's head lolling to the side and the telltale signs sleep overtaking his sweet little face.
"Wake up, bud!" I called back to him, "No sleeping yet!" I reached back to shake his leg in one of those dangerous "one hand on the wheel, one hand busy in the back seat" moves that moms are so famous for. Panicked that he would fall asleep before eating lunch, only to have his hungry tummy wake him up 45 minutes later, I weighed my options. I could just let him fall asleep and worry about lunch later...I did have an hour and a half drive home out of the city, and just maybe he would stay asleep for the entire drive. But who was I kidding?? I knew that today would be the day he would wake up after 20 minutes begging for food. And with his birthday party at Great Grandma's that evening, today was NOT the day for a short nap. Besides, his sister was starting to ask about lunch herself. In desperation, I pulled over at the first place I saw...The Golden Arches.
"So much for nutritious," I thought. But it would be a fast way to get back on the road and home in decent time for the birthday party, so I chose to swallow my own revulsion and treat my kids to a real birthday treat - their own Happy Meal. They were, of course, thrilled with the treat in the bottom of their bag and in awe of the giant T.V playing a Diego episode.
So much so, in fact, that I found myself forcing my son to eat his fries, chicken and apple slices. He was far more interested in the movie than his food and put up quite the fight...complete with tears and defiant "no's." I knew he needed to eat, but he hadn't been quite himself that morning...and it was his birthday after all.
I had finally given up on shoving food down his throat when it happened.
He looked at me wide-eyed and began to cough the tell-tale cough. Some kind of intuition warned me this situation was about to get very messy, and so with one arm I scooped him up, surveying the mess on our table. Not wanting to leave our garbage on the table while I ran to the bathroom, I used my other arm to balance our tray of garbage and headed quickly to the trash cans imploring my daughter to follow, "quickly!"
I had just dumped the contents of my tray in the garbage can when my son turned to me and dumped the contents of his stomach down the front of my shirt. As the realization of what was happening registered in my brain, he continued to vomit two more times while I stood frozen on the spot...avoiding the disgusted looks of fellow diners and trying not to think about what was now splashing all over the floor and my pantlegs. I stood still for one more microsecond to regret my wardrobe choices of a v-neck shirt and flip-flops on this lovely spring day before making a mad dash for the bathrooms in the back of the restaurant, hoping my stunned daughter would follow my lead, and ignoring the fact that I had just left the scene of the crime without any notice to restaurant employees.
In the bathroom, I quickly surveyed my options. I removed my son's soiled sweatshirt and used paper towel to wipe off his jeans the best I could. Thanking God that there was no one in the washroom, I next proceeded to rinse my flip-flops in the sink while I used more towels to clean up my hair and the front of my shirt. Looking in the mirror, I realized how ironic it was that I had taken so much time that morning to carefully do my hair and choose a nice outfit for the day's reunion with my husband after him being away for the week. "Well, I'll certainly make an impression!" I thought sarcastically. And with that, I picked up my son, held him in such a fashion to cover up the mess all down my front and (closing my eyes from sheer humiliation) pushed through the door and headed for the closest exit.
Luckily(?), it also happened to be the day our family was moving to a new town and the back of my vehicle was loaded with the suitcases full of clothes we had been living out of for the past 4 months. It didn't take long to find a new shirt and pants for my son...who was now in a rather comical and dazed state, repeating over and over, "I frew up in Donalds'...on Mom's shoes...my pants got all dirty!"
Digging further, I found a clean shirt for myself and an elastic to pull my hair up in. I definitely needed a shower, but in this case, baby-wipes were my best option. Guessing that I had probably just left any shred of dignity I had back in the McDonalds, I sat there in my front seat and changed my clothes, doing my best with the baby wipes. The good news was, I was in the city, and everybody else seemed too preoccupied with their own harried life to notice the crazy lady stripping down in the front seat of her Honda.
Once we were all cleaned up and buckled into our seats, I calmly drove out of the parking lot and continued on my way. It was only 15 minutes later when it dawned on me...how truly calm I was!!! After all that had just happened, I actually managed to "clean up" the situation with an amazing deftness and sanity. I should have been bursting into tears or something...but I could hardly manage more than a "that's life" shrug and a few giggles!
If you've been reading for a while, you know that this is not my first publicly humiliating experience with vomit...apparently my kids are still not following their dad's "New Rule." But I must admit that I was overwhelmingly impressed with my ability to handle the situation this time...not once did I dry heave. Me...the sympathetic puker!!! It was like I moved outside of myself and in some dream-like state handled the situation with nerves(and stomach) of steel.
This is a milestone of some sort, I am certain. While it may be that I am just losing more and more pride or dignity...could it also mean I'm getting better at this Mom thing, perhaps becoming less drama queen and more emotionally stable?
However you look at it...it was a birthday none of us will soon forget. Here's hoping next year will be slightly less eventful.
We had just spent an hour and a half in the doctor's office in the city awaiting my weekly appointment and my kids were tired and hungry all at once. I was debating where to stop for a quick and yet nutritious lunch when I happened to look back in my rearview mirror...only to see my son's head lolling to the side and the telltale signs sleep overtaking his sweet little face.
"Wake up, bud!" I called back to him, "No sleeping yet!" I reached back to shake his leg in one of those dangerous "one hand on the wheel, one hand busy in the back seat" moves that moms are so famous for. Panicked that he would fall asleep before eating lunch, only to have his hungry tummy wake him up 45 minutes later, I weighed my options. I could just let him fall asleep and worry about lunch later...I did have an hour and a half drive home out of the city, and just maybe he would stay asleep for the entire drive. But who was I kidding?? I knew that today would be the day he would wake up after 20 minutes begging for food. And with his birthday party at Great Grandma's that evening, today was NOT the day for a short nap. Besides, his sister was starting to ask about lunch herself. In desperation, I pulled over at the first place I saw...The Golden Arches.
"So much for nutritious," I thought. But it would be a fast way to get back on the road and home in decent time for the birthday party, so I chose to swallow my own revulsion and treat my kids to a real birthday treat - their own Happy Meal. They were, of course, thrilled with the treat in the bottom of their bag and in awe of the giant T.V playing a Diego episode.
So much so, in fact, that I found myself forcing my son to eat his fries, chicken and apple slices. He was far more interested in the movie than his food and put up quite the fight...complete with tears and defiant "no's." I knew he needed to eat, but he hadn't been quite himself that morning...and it was his birthday after all.
I had finally given up on shoving food down his throat when it happened.
He looked at me wide-eyed and began to cough the tell-tale cough. Some kind of intuition warned me this situation was about to get very messy, and so with one arm I scooped him up, surveying the mess on our table. Not wanting to leave our garbage on the table while I ran to the bathroom, I used my other arm to balance our tray of garbage and headed quickly to the trash cans imploring my daughter to follow, "quickly!"
I had just dumped the contents of my tray in the garbage can when my son turned to me and dumped the contents of his stomach down the front of my shirt. As the realization of what was happening registered in my brain, he continued to vomit two more times while I stood frozen on the spot...avoiding the disgusted looks of fellow diners and trying not to think about what was now splashing all over the floor and my pantlegs. I stood still for one more microsecond to regret my wardrobe choices of a v-neck shirt and flip-flops on this lovely spring day before making a mad dash for the bathrooms in the back of the restaurant, hoping my stunned daughter would follow my lead, and ignoring the fact that I had just left the scene of the crime without any notice to restaurant employees.
In the bathroom, I quickly surveyed my options. I removed my son's soiled sweatshirt and used paper towel to wipe off his jeans the best I could. Thanking God that there was no one in the washroom, I next proceeded to rinse my flip-flops in the sink while I used more towels to clean up my hair and the front of my shirt. Looking in the mirror, I realized how ironic it was that I had taken so much time that morning to carefully do my hair and choose a nice outfit for the day's reunion with my husband after him being away for the week. "Well, I'll certainly make an impression!" I thought sarcastically. And with that, I picked up my son, held him in such a fashion to cover up the mess all down my front and (closing my eyes from sheer humiliation) pushed through the door and headed for the closest exit.
Luckily(?), it also happened to be the day our family was moving to a new town and the back of my vehicle was loaded with the suitcases full of clothes we had been living out of for the past 4 months. It didn't take long to find a new shirt and pants for my son...who was now in a rather comical and dazed state, repeating over and over, "I frew up in Donalds'...on Mom's shoes...my pants got all dirty!"
Digging further, I found a clean shirt for myself and an elastic to pull my hair up in. I definitely needed a shower, but in this case, baby-wipes were my best option. Guessing that I had probably just left any shred of dignity I had back in the McDonalds, I sat there in my front seat and changed my clothes, doing my best with the baby wipes. The good news was, I was in the city, and everybody else seemed too preoccupied with their own harried life to notice the crazy lady stripping down in the front seat of her Honda.
Once we were all cleaned up and buckled into our seats, I calmly drove out of the parking lot and continued on my way. It was only 15 minutes later when it dawned on me...how truly calm I was!!! After all that had just happened, I actually managed to "clean up" the situation with an amazing deftness and sanity. I should have been bursting into tears or something...but I could hardly manage more than a "that's life" shrug and a few giggles!
If you've been reading for a while, you know that this is not my first publicly humiliating experience with vomit...apparently my kids are still not following their dad's "New Rule." But I must admit that I was overwhelmingly impressed with my ability to handle the situation this time...not once did I dry heave. Me...the sympathetic puker!!! It was like I moved outside of myself and in some dream-like state handled the situation with nerves(and stomach) of steel.
This is a milestone of some sort, I am certain. While it may be that I am just losing more and more pride or dignity...could it also mean I'm getting better at this Mom thing, perhaps becoming less drama queen and more emotionally stable?
However you look at it...it was a birthday none of us will soon forget. Here's hoping next year will be slightly less eventful.
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