I was gone from home for four nights when I went to Chicago last week. Four. That's a long time in baby world. Long long. Lovely friend A dropped me off around 11:30 pm Monday evening and all I wanted to do was climb over the rail and crawl into J's crib and snuggle him all over. I smoothed his back while he slept soundly and I took in the baby smell in his nursery. SO happy to be home.
Husband and I stayed up for a bit, giving each other weekend re-caps, and then I heard a soft cry, and for the first time in almost a year, I was thrilled that Jacob was awake in the middle of the night. I made a beeline for his room, so excited to scoop him into my arms. As I got closer to his crib, I realized this was no ordinary wake-up we were dealing with. I flipped on the light to discover that my sweet boy was covered, head-to-toe, in vomit. The look on his face could have shatter the hardest of hearts ... he was so sleepy and upset from his admittedly rude awakening, but when he saw me, his eyes perked and a smile slowly spread across his face. Despite the layer of smelly disgusting that covered him and his bed, I picked him up and held him close. He instantly laid his head down on my chest and I felt his whole body relax. I held him and rocked him for a while before gently cleaning up my half-asleep boy. I snuggled him in and gave him part of a bottle to help soothe his upset tummy, and he fell back to sleep. I laid him back into his re-made crib and smoothed his back once more.
I went back to our room and peeled off my pjs, which were no longer in sleeping condition to say the least. I could've been covered in worse and I wouldn't have cared. The poor little sickie just needed his Mama. And did it ever feel good.