Love and Vomit

There are many, many things I never thought I would do or say before I became a parent. (How often I make references about my son's toilet habits, for example.) But there is one specific thing that I remember my mother doing that catches me by surprise every time I find myself doing it: I'm talking about catching my child's vomit with my bare hands.

Gross, I know. Which is why I'm surprised each and every time I have done it myself.

When I was about five years old, the open windows in my bedroom suddenly slammed the door shut behind me. Unfortunately, one of my fingers was still back there. On the plus side, it wasn't severed completely, and the doctors were able to reattach the wayward tip. I was knocked out for the operation, and I remember waking up feeling very, very ill. As soon as I sat up, out came the vomit, and I very clearly remember my mother rushing over with her hands cupped just below my mouth.

For the longest time I thought, "Damn, that some nasty shit right there!" I never understood how she could have done that. (As an aside, my parents were both workaholics and we spent a lot of time with nannies. Apart from the finger incident, I don't really recall any memories of being sick with the flu or a stomach bug as a young child.)

Last night (and this morning), my son barfed. As I've done every time he's gotten sick in these past four years, my cupped hands automatically shot below his mouth to catch it. And after EVERY. SINGLE. TIME ... I think to myself, "Good lord, it's like what my mom did for me!"

I guess I like to think of it as something a parent would do, unconditionally, for her child. That, no matter little time my mom and I spent together, she would still do that for me. No matter how angry or frustrated I get at my son, I would still do that for him. There is no truer sign of love than catching someone else's vomit!

And, I'm somewhat shallow. Better my hands than that expensive rug? ;)