Posted by on May 22, 2011 in broken washer, my kid puked everywhere, nausea from antibiotic for baby, puking babies, sick, sick baby | 10 comments

Well, it didn’t die, per se. It just has “electrical issues” that cause it to get halfway through a cycle before draining and leaving us with a full load of sopping wet towels. Or blankets. Or jeans. Or t-shirts. Or socks. Yeah, we tried like 10 different loads before we accepted that something wasn’t right. Maybe we’re the ones with the “electrical issues.”
So we’ve been waiting for a new part since Friday and it won’t be in until Thursday. We knew this was bad timing because we’re trying to leave town fairly soon (is it considered trashy to pack dirty clothes for a trip?) and we already were backed up on laundry.
Ah well, surely we can make it a week, we thought.
We are such idiots.
As soon as that thought was conjured up, all hell broke loose.
First of all, Ryan – who hasn’t spit up in weeks, maybe months – suddenly began spitting up repeatedly on Saturday. Every time we put him down for a nap, he’d flip himself over on to his stomach and spit up all over his sheet and whatever blanket was in bed with him.
We assumed it was because he’d just eaten and was flinging himself around too much. (Nap time?! Psshhh! It’s FUN time!) It wasn’t a lot of spit up, but it was enough to necessitate the changing of the sheet and the discarding of the blanket, and after the third incident, we were officially out of clean sheets and blankets.
So Mike had to go to the laundromat to wash some of Ryan’s stuff, but by the time he got home and the stuff was dried (at least our dryer is working!), Ryan was already down for the night, sleeping peacefully on a mattress pad.
In the morning, we found him still happily cuddled up on the mattress pad, surrounded by… well… let’s just say he had a major diaper blowout. The first in months. All over the mattress pad, as well as a pretty knitted blanket from my childhood that I’d given him since all his blankets were dirty.
Alright. Ok. Deep breath. At least we have clean sheets now! This too shall pass.
So we stain-sticked the life out of both items and set the mattress pad to soak in the bathtub. (What? Do you have a better idea?)
Then we remembered: Yay! It’s Sunday! We get to go to Stacy’s house to meet her brand new adorable little baby boy!
We headed to a local BBQ place for lunch (where Mike proceeded to spill an entire bowl of BBQ sauce down the front of his t-shirt and shorts), and then to Stacy’s to meet my cuddly new friend, Preston:

He’s even cuter in person. I know, you’re thinking that’s not possible.
I’m here to tell you it’s true.
We stayed for about an hour, snuggling the baby and catching up with some friends. When it was time to leave, I handed Preston off to Mike for a moment of cuddling, and snatched Ryan up off the couch.
Ryan glanced up at me. And projectile-vomited.
Big time. All over me, all over himself, all over Stacy’s couch.
We all yelled “OH!” and froze.
Ok… Well, I’ll just--” PUUUUUUUKE.
“Whoa! What’s he-?”
PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUKE.
Is he–“
PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUKE.
Oh God! Why isn’t it stop–“

PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUKE.
–a towel appears from somewhere–

PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUKE.
“He must be done–“

PUUUKE.
In his rampage of destruction, Ryan decimated the couch, the pretty new rug, the beautiful hardwood floor, and the entire left half of my body.
Soaked.

Soaked.

There were six adults in the room at the time. Five of us were frozen in place. Stacy’s mom – clearly a veteran, completely unfazed by any of it – bustled about with towels as four brand new parents and one about-to-be mom stood and stared at the wreckage.
Did I mention that the only thing other than formula that he’d had to eat all day was puréed chick peas? Yeah, chick peas.
Yeah.
Ryan glanced at me, and if he could have spoken, I know for a fact he would have said, “What? What’s up?
I quickly changed the little guy, who has the benefit of always having an extra outfit in tow. I was not so lucky, and I was drenched from head to toe.
Uh. I’m really sorry. I brought you a zucchini bread! It’s on the counter! Preston is so cute. Bye!
And then we drove home. Which was 45 minutes away. And it was hot out. Want to take a moment to imagine how that car ride smelled? Thirty minutes into it, I declared that I’d met my limit for vomit smell and was going to have to strip and throw my clothes onto the I-10.
But I decided to spare the city of Phoenix that sight and made it home as Mike declared that he was going to throw everything into the bathtub to soak. (Again, broken washer, so if you’ve got a better idea, we’re all ears.)

But! Have brilliant idea for a way to pay for washer and the bill for the emergency plumbing call on Mother’s Day: Am inventing wine-IV contraption that delivers wine to your body quickly and efficiently. Will market to new moms.
(And in case you’re wondering, Ryan is fine. Happier than ever, in fact. He had a bad reaction to a strong antibiotic that is battling his ear infection, congestion and cough. It can cause nausea, it would seem. Good to know.)