Vomit, Vomit Everywhere

Last night there was a lot of vomit. It was not mine. This morning it took two loads of laundry to get all the sheets, blankets, and clothing cleaned of barf. Garrett threw up in his bed and in my bed. He was awake for most of the night acting completely hyper in between spew sessions. I tried to sleep with him on his floor (on top of a sheet with a trash can nearby) but that didn't work because he kept sitting up and saying, "Dada! Ball! Honk Honk! Biss!" I put him back in his bed and he slept for three hours before his sobbing woke me up. I put him in my bed. Forty minutes, a couple of rounds of throwing himself under the covers and then playing peekaboo, and a whole lot of, "Dada! Teeee (TV)!" later, he ralphed into my hands and all over my sheets. I decided to try his floor again. I rubbed his back and every time I stopped he either grabbed my hand and put it on his back or sat up and pushed on me until I resumed rubbing or whimpered, "Mo-a." At six this morning he finally drifted off to sleep for a couple of hours. At eight he shot straight up and shrieked, "DADA!" I crept off to my own bedroom and informed Troy that I was going to sleep and he was on duty. I slept until 10:00 bringing my total hour count up to almost six. Garrett hasn't thrown up anymore but when I put him down for his nap, he was running a 101 degree temperature. The poor little guy has been catching everything that germinates within a few hundred miles, I think.

I wouldn't trade being a mom for anything in the world but when you look at that positive pregnancy test you think things like, "Oh, it's going to be so cute and cuddly and it'll smile and laugh and I'll get to give it a bath and take it to Disneyland." Rarely do you think, "Yep. Pretty soon I'm going to be in the trenches of motherhood, catching barf in my hands." But when that soft little head finally fell asleep on the pillow next to me, it didn't matter that it smelled like the inside of a stomach, it was still the sweetest little thing. And in my mind I heard the words of a Caedmon's Call song...

this house is a good mess
it's the proof of life
no way would I trade jobs
but it don't pay overtime

I'll get to the laundry
I don't know when
I'm saying a prayer tonight
cause tomorrow it starts again

could it be that everything is sacred?
and all this time
everything I've dreamed of
has been right before my eyes

the children are sleeping
but they're running through my mind
the sun makes them happy
and the music makes them unwind

my cup runneth over
and I worry about the stain
teach me to run to You
like they run to me for every little thing

when I forget to drink from you
I can feel the banks harden
Lord, make me like a stream
to feed the garden

wake up, little sleeper
the Lord, God Almighty
made your Mama keeper
so rise and shine
rise and shine

cause everything is sacred
and all this time
everything I've dreamed of
has been right before my eyes

Could it be that everything is entitled to reverence and respect because God placed me in the very circumstance? Could every mundane act of feeding that child, cleaning up his puke, vacuuming the house, be worthy of prestige? It's true that my reaction to that one positive pregnancy test among the many negative ones was surprise and elation. In that one instant I suppose I began naming him, holding him, teaching him. I certainly did not instantly think of the sleepless nights and the vomit. But in the bleeding and the bumps and the bruises and the stomach flu, I see glimpses of heaven. God has entrusted me with this little life and every day I learn more about how much the Creator loves me because of how much I love my son. And trust me when I say that God does a whole lot more than hold my vomit in his hands.