My Super Powers

Becoming a mother has changed a lot of things for me. New goals, new interests, even a new set of tools. In addition to the new padding on my ass and middle section, my blossoming appreciation of singing rodents and clue seeking dogs and a newfound compulsion to be the "coolest" mom in the preschool (yes, burgeoning Alpha-mom tendencies I struggle to keep in check), my hearing has become a finely honed tool. I can be sound asleep yet if I hear the kind of gagging and coughing that usually precedes vomit, I will wake up and move at lightening speed right to the side of the ailing child, ready, willing and able to take on the contents of the little stomach vying to make an appearance while simultaneously comforting the nauseated child. There was a time in my life that these same sounds were considered warning signs, a signal to jump back and avoid splatter on your "going out" shoes. Granted, that type of regurgitation was usually the result of over-indulgence of one kind or another. That kind of retch usually came at the end of a long night out with the girls, frequently involving tequila. What an interesting transformation. Not only do I hear and respond like some kind of puke seeking SWAT team, my previously hair-trigger gag response has been modified to tolerate the stench of my own children's output. Handy, especially when one of my responses to vomit is to reach out and catch this spew in my own two hands. I'm still trying to figure out why that is part of this new "gift", what is to be gained if I do manage to catch it? Nothing, just a big handful of puke. And precisely what am I supposed to do with that?

At any rate, it is good that I have been selected for these new powers since Big Dog has a ridiculously sensitive gag response. In our house a coughing fit at bedtime is almost always followed by dinner revisited, a change of pjs, a change of bedsheets and a mom with puke in her hair. Little Dog is less susceptible, but not completely immune. Since he is currently battling the same cold/flu that kept me housebound for two days, I decided to saline spray his nose last night. Much gagging ensued, followed by a lot of screaming, crying and yes, finally a gooey splash of vomit. Mr. Dog finally managed to calm him down and get him to bed. When the adult faction of the family finally settled under the blankets and snuggled down to sleep, my thoughts drifting to dreams my radar got a little blip. A cough. Two coughs, a gag and I was bolt upright. Shooting out of bed in perfect coordination with my trusty sidekick "Puke Dad", this "Vomit Mama" was back in action. Puke Dad hoisted Big Dog out of his bed and carried him into the bathroom, Vomit Mama retrieved towels, clean jammies and gathered up sheets and remade the bed. In less than 30 minutes from first gag to post-spew tuck in, we were back in bed. The term "well oiled machine" springs to mind.

Sure I'd have much preferred the power to use mind control to will my children into an early bedtime, or the ability to seek out the source of those odd and lingering smells in my car, but I'll take what I'm given. Even if it involves hands that inexplicably rush to function as emesis basins. With every blessing comes a curse, right?