Thursday, January 12, 2012

Vomit Sweetly

The last 24 hours have been a roller coaster of love, sickness, sleeplessness and joy. 

I picked up the kids yesterday and we took Ireland to what will likely be the first of many dance classes to come in the future. She was absolutely giddy with excitement on the way to the studio. It was an energy that comes out every once in a while, is never lacking in the absolute cutest 5 year old I know, but often hovers just below the surface, ready to pounce at any given opportunity. It was blasting out of the water yesterday, however, like that video of the Great White jumping out of the ocean to snack on a delicious fatty treat of unlucky seal. Ireland was the shark. Dance was the seal. 

We got down to the new environment, and carefully assessed the situation. She was humble and shy, but not afraid of what was to come. She joined right in among the small group of strangers, not backing down when the door behind her closed and her dad and brother were sent to the window to watch. The class did a fun warm up routine, which was accented as you can see, by some sweet hip thrusting. 

The class was an hour long, and included some nice touches on ballet lingo, hip hop influence, and a promise of more to come, including forays into tap and jazz in the weeks to come. Needless to say, she is eager to go back, and wanted to use my phone to call her Bobo and tell her how much fun the class was right after we got out. 

We got home and Sean dug into his homework, and I made a quick dinner for us all to enjoy. The hostess cupcakes seemed at the time to be a well thought out dessert plan. We watched a little bit of Grease for educational purposes, and then it was off to bed. We had an early morning, so I was hoping that we would all get some sleep. 

Fast forward. 1 am. Darkness. A sweet whisper and touch gently wakes me up and Ireland's face is right in front of mine. As my eyes adjust, I can see that she has been crying and I ask her "What's up, babygirl?" She begins to explain that she threw up, but as she is telling me the story, she breaks down in tears, realizing that she had done her best to contain the emotional situation until this moment, but it was no more. She let it go, and fell into me with a giant hug. I figured out that she had puked in her bed, waking up to her sheets and clothes covered in the remnants of a once delicious hostess treat. As I inspected, I noticed evidence of the projectile all over the floor, the rug, the bathroom...then I realized that it had all been cleaned up, to the extent that a 5 year old can do so. It was still, however, on her clothes...which she had changed out of, and put back in her wardrobe. She was wearing new sweats and a t-shirt. The towels, hung nicely back on the rack in the bathroom, also showed signs of the task they had been put to that evening. 

This frickin' little angel had woke up, puked, made it to the bathroom and finished, gone back, did her best to clean it all up nicely, and then come in and softy let me know she wasn't feeling good. I wonder how long she waited, probably not wanting to bother anyone before she finally came in? 

I pulled her into the bed, and snuggled up trying to soothe her back to sleep. About an hour later, she whispered that her tummy hurt. We waited a few minutes, and then she made her way quietly to the bathroom on her own. I figured maybe she was going potty until I heard a distressed little plea, "Dad, I need you!" I rushed in and held her perfect little blond hair back as she tossed another load in the basin. The tears and familiar pain interrupted long enough to let it fly and regain composure. We finished. We rinsed. We crawled back in bed. This scenario continued 4 more times (both of us heading in together each time now, of course...I knew what was coming) until about 6:30, when she was empty and I knew it was time to get up and get going. 

When I picked her back up at about noon to keep her chilled out and happy for the afternoon, she was teary and weak. We stacked up an assortment of movies, pulled out the 7-up and saltines, and got to giggling as Mike Meyers and Zac Effron entertained, and I tried to keep up with work on the laptop. The afternoon, as hard as it was, had more than it's fair share of daughter-initiated bear hugs. I can't explain how fucking amazing every one makes me feel, and what a wonderful experience every minute with her, no matter how challenging some may be, is. 

I'm grabbing Sean for the Nevada game tonight, to let his sister catch some more rest, and to hang out court side watching some hoops. 

I didn't get much done at work today. 

It has been perfect. 


Ellen said...

Brian - how well I remember you (only as a baby) , throwing up and pooping at the same time all over your dad....hahaha! He was changing you - about age 18 months I think, and we gave you a bath, then I put your naked little body in your fathers arms, and then you threw up and pooped all over him!!! It was awesome.

mohap247 said...

These are the moments that all guard is down and a little girl just needs her dad. So sad for the little pea, but I hear she is much better now.
What a PRECIOUS vessel cleaning it up herself... she is a legend.

Erin said...

Little doll. Those are rough nights. They are so helpless and precious. Can't WAIT to watch a dance performance.