What We’ve Learned: Week 27
“Mr. Watson, come here. I need you.” — Alexander Graham Bell
When we put Henry to sleep at night, there is about a 25% chance that he’ll be back up within the next couple of hours. Usually, this is due to him either pooping or having gas (oh, that crazy GI system). Because these are things that I can remedy, I tend to go in there first and give Kristen a break. If it’s poop, I’ll change his diaper and rock him back to sleep. If it’s gas, I’ll burp him and rock away. Most of the time, he falls asleep in my arms and all is good.
Last night, just as I was starting to write my brief half-birthday entry and Kristen was starting to edit some pictures (pictures that, as you soon will see, have yet to be edited), Henry started to make some noise. A moan. A groan. A cry.
We waited a minute (sometimes he’ll have his gas and fall back asleep on his own), but when nothing changed, I went in preparing to change, pat, and rock.
What I found instead was carnage that has not been seen before in this house or any other.
Henry had vomited — not spit up (oh, if only it was spit up) — all over his crib. It was everywhere: his swaddle, the sheet, his ears, the floor (where I was fortunate enough to step in it), and it stunk.
(Of course, here’s the funny thing: as I realize what had happened, I quickly turn on the light, look into the crib, and there is an adorable, vomit-covered baby, smiling back at me. Smiling!)
Anyway, I uttered into the baby monitor, “Kristen, come here. I need you.” And, stepping a bit away from the words that were the first things uttered through a telephone, I added a bit of emphasis. “NOW!”
So Kristen comes running in (“Aw! Ew! Oh!”) and we figure that a bath is in order. (By the end of the ordeal I, too, was covered in vomit, so I had a bath of my own.)
Now both of us were pretty worried. It was a lot of vomit, certainly more than he had ever expelled before, and he was a bit pale (not unlike how I was Sunday morning), but after we wiped him down, we did a quick check to see if this was something serious or not. He didn’t have a fever (whew), he was hamming it up (even covered with his dinner, he was still smiling away at his parents), and after a few minutes, he had gotten his color back.
So I ran a bath and scrubbed him clean and, fearing the stains would set in, Kristen threw the soiled items into the laundry. As I dried him, though, and as he squirmed and smiled, Henry must’ve thought (and, as he says only one word, I’m making some assumptions here) that vomiting once that night wasn’t good enough, and he did it again!
So back in the tub he went, with more scrubbing (this time, a lot got in the folds of his second chin), and more washing, and when he was out and dressed, we again checked to make sure that everything was good.
So temperature was checked and color was evaluated (again, pale at first, normal after a couple of minutes) and into his pajamas he went. We laid with Henry for a while, did some playing on the bed, Kristen fed him, and, just like that, he was back asleep, with everything staying down.
The funny thing is, that through all of this, while Kristen and I were mildly panicking, Henry was just as happy as could be, and the only time he got fussy was when we put him in his swaddle and back in his crib.
What a great baby.
So other than knowing that, yes, a six-month-old can vomit his body weight, what else have we learned this week?
We learned that “puh” and “pah” are his new favorite things to say. “Puh, puh, puh, puh,” he’ll tell us, for no obvious reason. “Pah, pah, pah, pah.” Well, the reason is he likes the noise and he’s at the beginning of word creation. In fact, when he’s not “puh”-ing or “pah”-ing, he’ll be chattering away. On Tuesday, super-nanny Silvia took Henry and Viv to the local park fieldhouse where Vivienne usually runs around with other kids and Henry sits and watches. This time, Henry saw another 6-month-old boy and babbling to him for nearly 20 minutes. We’re all trying to figure out what he could say for that long (translation: “I like to roll and sometimes I eat and then I nap and oh, did I tell you about my kitties, and sometimes we go for a walk and I roll…”). Anyway, Henry likes to talk.
We learned that Henry still doesn’t like bananas and has added apples to the “no” pile.
We learned that the cats are becoming increasingly interesting to Henry but he has become like Kryptonite to their Superman. They try their darnedest to stay at least 15 feet away from Henry at all times. To remedy this, Henry has fallen for a stuffed black and white bear that has, temporarily, taken their place. Pretty soon Henry will realize that this plush doppleganger is not a cat (mostly by the fact that it doesn’t move), but for the time being, it’ll do.
And we learned that Henry wiggles like a Mexican jumping bean when he sees Kristen or me. This, along with the full-headed smile, is the best thing ever, because, while we’re pretty sure that Henry loves us as much as we love him, it’s nice to physically see him “say it.” When Kristen or I are holding him and the other walks into the room, you have to squeeze him tight to make sure he doesn’t squirm out of your arms and launch himself into the air. That is love.
February 26th, 2009 at 9:06 pm
Poor guy – I hope he’s feeling okay now. The first puke is SCARY and it doesn’t get less so.