SPITTING IMAGE

I can't get upset with him...

As I carried the pile of clean clothes up the stairs, I couldn't escape the smell.

It was sour and stale. Try as I might, I could not figure out where it was coming from.  The clothes were fresh out of the dryer, so it wasn't them.

Sure, I had yet to shower, so there was definitely a poor odor coming from me, but I was pretty sure that wasn't it. 

Let's back track 50 minutes.

The Little One was fresh off his first breakfast, and we were sitting on the bed together chatting while the Wife got herself ready for the day. As the Little One babbled through an explanation of his latest dream, he smiled, gurgled and let fly with some second-time-around breast milk.

Got me on the cheek, chin and several other spots.

Even when he does this.

It's funny, but he always smiles as the spit-up is flowing out his mouth. Apparently the joy of clearing a gas bubble from his stomach has a bigger impact on his mood than the foul taste of partially digested milk refluxing its way out of him.

As is the case with any spit-up, I went into HazMat cleaning mode. Strip the sheet off the bed. Get the Little One onto the changing table and out of the soiled clothes. While we're at it, change the diaper, which is now full.

Did we mention that the Little One spit up twice more while on the changing table? Each time all over his own chest after he had just been cleaned. We call this the "morning routine."

So, after three bird baths and an outfit change, the Little One was cleaned. The Wife was ready to serve him breakfast No. 2, so I brought the soiled bedsheets down to the basement to wash. While down there, I folded two loads of clean laundry for the Little One, and moved a third load into the dryer.  

With a basketball of clean, folded laundry and my own outfit for the day in hand, I made my way back up stairs. That's when the smell kicked in. What the hell was it?

Then I looked in the mirror and saw remnants of the incident that had kicked off the day. It was partially dried spit up, which the Little One had drilled me with first thing in the morning. 

All you can do is shake your head and laugh. Mornings happen so fast now that it's very easy to overlook certain things. Like having a face and neck full of baby spit-up decorating your face.

Throughout the day yesterday, I thought about how I must have looked, and I smiled. Walking around half-awake, lugging laundry up and down the stairs, face-full of spit-up. All before 7 a.m.

When I got home, I walked into the Little One's room. He was fresh off his early dinner and playing in his crib, practicing rolling from his belly to his back. I picked him up for a hug.

So he smiled and spit up all over the front of my shirt.