Now I understand what they meant in our parenting classes by "projectile vomit."
Poor Baby Sam. It's been a rough week or so, as we've fought a nasty stomach flu that seems to be circulating around. He started throwing up his meals three feet or so across the room Saturday night, then, amazingly for a 15 lb. body, proceeded to create the most rancid smelling blow outs the consistency of wet cement....up to his neck. I should have just taken the diaper off, for all the good IT did. Let's just say I've learned to take apart the carseat down to the styrofoam, wash it all, AND put it back together again. Not bad for a college degree.
It's been bleak survival mode in our house, I cannot even tell you how many loads of laundry I've done, or about my passionate love affair with OxyClean. Sam would need an entirely new wardrobe if it weren't for it's stain fighting powers. Sigh.
Then on Monday night, I got it. And wanted to die. Couldn't even carry the baby up the stairs and didn't know how I'd make it through that day.
But we survived and are picking up the pieces at our house.
Scott is renting a carpet steamer tonight to clean all the upstairs carpeting. Yup, it was THAT bad.