The Spit-up Chronicles

One thing I've learned as a new mom is that with motherhood comes a sick obsession with bodily functions. Did she pee? Was it DAMP or SOAKED? And more importantly - did she POOP? What color was it? Was it runny? They even want you to write it down.

There's another bodily function that you don't have to document so closely: spit up. Some babies just do it a little bit when they're newborns and quickly out grow it. Not my Bean. She is a steadfast SPITTER. Doc says she'll probably out grow it when she's one or so, but some spit until they're two. TWO? I have never done so much laundry nor been so stained....and fragrant. Inconvenient as it is, however, breast milk spit up is fairly innocuous. It comes out in the laundry and doesn't smell too bad if you clean it up quickly. But I wasn't prepared for the rainbows that would dribble down her chin and splash on the floor when she started solids (the dog likes them though. Gross!).

Anyhoo, I was thinking about all of this as I rinsed some crusty substance or other from my hair this morning, and I realized, just like diaper contents, spit up comes in many varieties.

1. The new friend spit up. "Oh she's precious! Can I hold her?" Sure, just be careful because - BLEP - oh, sorry about that. People usually say, "Oh, that's ok," but their horrified expression and frantic scrubbing betrays them.

2. The stealth bomber. How does she manage to project that stuff from her face and not get a drop on HERSELF? My fave was when she somehow managed to spit up DOWN my turtleneck sweater directly into my cleavage...yet there wasn't a trace on her or on the outside of my sweater. Good. At least I didn't have to change again.

3. The OMG this poison is burning my skin -up. This is my Hubby. I think he's finally given up, but for the first three months, as soon as she got him, he'd hand her to me so he could run and change his shirt. Again, and again, and again. Just rub it in, babe. It's hypoallergenic.

4. Prunes.

5. Carrots/sweet potatoes/squash.

6. The car seat spit up. Is it the angle of the seat? Do the straps press on her belly? I have never identified the cause, but the Bean spits up EVERY time I strap her in her car seat, soaking whatever cute little outfit or jacket I had carefully chosen and wrestled her in to. EVERY time.

7. The airplane. It's so fun, laying on your back, flying the baby around. She smiles, she giggles, she loves it ("You're playing with fire," a voice in your head says). Splat. In the face. (She smiles, she giggles, she loves it.)

8. The friend's story. I love this one too much to not share it. My friend, who, BTW, rarely curses, took her bean to the doctor. After a long day at work, followed by the baby peeing on the examining table, she had had enough. When the baby then spit up over her shoulder, down her shirt, and onto the floor, she exclaimed, "motherFUCKER!" then blushed when she saw the doc's horrified expression.

9. The bath. Never fails. If the spit up doesn't come at the beginning of the bath, filling the water with the cottage cheese you were in there trying to wash off in the first place, it comes at the end. "Nice and clean, Bean...." SPLAT.

10. The kiss. (You can see this one coming.) "Oh, mommy loves her Bean. Come here, give me a kiss..." Splat. Right in the kisser. GAG.