While nobody is a fan of puke, I really have my issues with it. I am terrified of seeing it, of smelling it, of being around someone who's recently done it. I can recall with vivid clarity the last time I did it (November of 9th grade). I will not eat anything that I have once enjoyed and then re-enjoyed (including Cheerios, cinnamon toast, and chicken pot pie). I will not eat anything that FICTIONAL CHARACTERS have once enjoyed and re-enjoyed. It's required years of therapy and though I'm far from over the hurdle, I'm coping.
Raising children is hard by any standard, but this quirk of mine doesn't make it easier. Sprout has this nasty habit of gagging horribly if I offer her the breast once she's decided that she's had enough. This is painful to me on two levels. Firstly, it's never cool if you offer up your bobbies to anyone and they put 'em in their mouth and promptly start to gag. It really messes with your psyche. I am sorry that my girls are so offensive to you that the mere touch of them to your lips makes you wretch. Secondly, gagging that violently often leads to the technicolor yawn (though could it still be considered technicolor if the only thing one has ever ingested is white milk?). However, she typically just gags and shoots me nasty looks before calming down and demanding to go to sleep.
Until two nights ago. She gagged. She coughed. And then, as I sat with her on the couch, gave back to me what appeared to be every last drop of milk that she's had in her 9 weeks of life. The puddle that collected in my lap was so overwhelming that I needed not one but two towels to mop up the mess. I will be eternally thankful when she's old enough to reach that time-honored tradition of praying at the porcelain shrine all by herself.
On a similar note, my little girl has bowel problems like you couldn't possibly ever imagine. While we're on an upturn with those issues, three days worth of digested breast milk makes for a large quantity of poop. She was sitting in my lap today, gazing up at me. Very serene. Until she started grunting. And by grunting, I mean she sounds like a large man after a hot dog eating contest or something similar. She's making sounds that should not be coming out of a sweet baby girl. But whatever - she was pooping and when you have a constipated baby, pooping is always a good thing. I feel warmth on my leg and I wish diapers contained not only excrement but also the heat associated with said excrement. Alas, it's then that I realize that the particular diaper that she's wearing not only fails to contain the heat, but the source of the heat as well.
Sigh. I need a shower.