Thursday, December 13, 2007
A house in the vicinity of Antwerp, Belgium.
2.15 AM, everyone’s asleep. Then, a baby starts to cry.
I get up to soothe him, wondering why he cries. It’s not his usual feeding time yet.
I want to caress him, but my hand touches a gooey lukewarm liquid.
We move to DEFCON-3: Mrs.B takes care of Wolf and runs up to get clean PJs. I’m in charge of the messy pile of blankets, his sleeping bag and other items floating in his bed. Barely ten minutes later, everything’s changed and the baby is properly soothed. We put him back into bed.
DEFCON-4: Same procedure, but we’re running out of sleeping bags here. There’s nothing left but his summer sleeping bag. And we’re clean out of blankets. But while we’re pondering that question and drying off our baby.
SUPER MEGA VOMIT!
This time, he didn’t even puke in his own bed. Luckily, most of it lands on Mrs.B’s PJs – and not on our bed I mean (because changing a double bed is such a drag). But Wolf’s very last sleeping bag is a soaking puddle of sour smelling liquid, with hints of banana. The little guy smiles as he finally got rid of that nasty feeling in his belly.
We declare his bed a total loss and put him in between us – on a towel. Mommy puts on a new pyjama and we all go to bed. After forty minutes of general alert, we’re too tired to notice the smell that lingers in the room.
Tomorrow we go to the baby doctor’s.