Catching vomit

We had a sick baby boy yesterday.  From the minute he woke up, he was not himself.  He had a fever and a runny nose.  I made an appointment with the doctor, just to make sure there was nothing else hiding, like an ear infection.

After a 3 hour nap, he woke up vomiting.  Not just a little.  Like a champ.  It broke my heart into 1000 pieces to see him in pain.  But I have to admit, it was the first time I spent the day catching vomit with joy in my heart.  It literally turned my day right-side-up, because I'd been dealing with a little bit of "poor me."

I had the privilege of not only catching his vomit multiple times, but also following up each session with a warm wash-cloth and a couple warm baths, a lot of rocking, holding, and sleeping.  Jason met me at the doctor's office, where we stood together and caught his vomit in the parking lot, with our other 3 kids running around like escapees from the local mental hospital and dozens of Cerner professionals watching.  Privileged.

This is the first time he's been sick in the 7 weeks at home.  During the in-between (529 days), after we saw his face for the first time at age 4 mos, and our "gotcha" day, he was hospitalized at least twice.  Once for repeated vomiting and once for respiratory complications.  Neither time did he have Mommy nor Daddy with him.  Neither time did he have even a nanny or care-giver with him to comfort him and make him see that everything was going to be alright.  No one to watch him sleep in the tiny little hospital bed or rejoice when the dr. gave the "all clear" report.  Nope.  Just a driver, hired to drive him back to the orphanage.

Who caught his vomit?

Who wiped him off?

Who gave him a warm bath?

Who gave him crackers to settle his stomach?

The pain and anger we felt during his African hospitalizations:  it's still there.   It's still alive and well. However, it feels good to know that from now on, he will not be sick alone.