Yesterday I officially became a mom. One might think that it just happens when you get pregnant or during the birthing process. I did, too. Until yesterday...
W was being extra cuddly and wanted to read instead of play. He climbed off of my lap and with his back to me I heard a little choke. I asked what was in his mouth and he turned and walked over to me. Another choke. He looked confused and a little scared. And then I knew.
I quickly cupped my hands under his chin. "It's OK, baby. Just let it go," I said. And he did.
In an instant my hands were full of vomit, warm, chunky, liquid spilled out of my hands and onto his shirt. He started to cry. Scared, I'm sure.
Matt walked in from his yard work at the perfect moment. "Help! My hands are full of puke!"
We ushered W into the kitchen, I dumped my hands into the sink, and I tore off his monkey t-shirt, reminding him it was OK. And just like that I became a real mom.
There is nothing like that instinct that tells you to cup your hands and start comforting your child while you have puke on the couch, your jeans, and the kid. No time for you to plug your nose or put on a mask. You can't gag or back off in that instant, because all the fears of puke you've had melt into the background. Somehow your kid's puke isn't quite as gross as all the other pukes you've been avoiding all your life. That's when you know you've arrived.