Some mornings, especially after nights with frequent wake ups, I do not want to get out of bed. These mornings tend to drag in an endless row of excuses and slow downs, until noon rolls around and I am still in my night things, and Cora is eating crackers, not a nutritious breakfast. This was bound to be one of those mornings.
The baby began to cry at 6:50 AM. She didn't settle down again though, so at 7:15 I was up with her, making yet another bottle, and wondering why I didn't buy the expensive coffee maker that ground, measured filled and brewed at the push of one button. By 9 I was still in pajamas, Cora was watching her second choice of a movie (the first was too scary), and the baby was just waking up for the short nap.
I retrieved the mewling infant. Babies do really make a pathetic mewling like noise when they want attention. She gave me a beatific smile, and happily tried to stick her feet in the pooppy diaper I changed. I picked her up again, rubbed her nose and then watched in utter astonishment.
Nyobi vomited in a clear clean arch, right down the V in My pajama top. It was as if she aimed. Only the left over end of the vomit spew managed to soak my robe and her outfit. Her favorite pink blanket didn't have a drop of disgusting curdle on it.
So here I am, caring for the baby, finishing my blog post, drinking more coffee and dressed and showered. Its amazing what a simple catalyst a little bit of baby puke can be.
I have to quit wearing V neck shirts, that is the ickiest feeling on your skin.