Powerburf

Well before I ever became pregnant with Miss Baby, I had spent a fair bit of time in the baby care trenches. Explosive breastmilk poops, spray pees, reverberating burps, and mommy-must-pick-‘em boogers were not unknown to me. I thought I was quite sophisticated, so far as baby bodily emanations went.

Ha. Enter the powerburf.

I have to say I was totally unprepared for the volume and force of the vomit (it’s certainly not ‘spit up’) that Miss Baby can produce. From about 10 days old to about 8 weeks, she would quite regularly issue forth a cone of destruction soaking everything in its path: nursing pillow, sleeper, mommy’s shirt, bra, pants, the rocking chair, daddy’s work clothes, the dishwasher and kitchen counter, the playpen. And the weird thing is it’s never just one shot: she always gives us a reliable four-shot barf. BLRWAH! … BLRWAH! … BLRWAH! … BLRWAH! We are powerless to do anything but watch, and, maybe, aim her away from the carpets.

Thank god we own our own washer and dryer. Here’s a pretty typical shot, where Pynchon is wearing most of the devastation – what you don’t see is the puddle on the floor as well. And yes, she’s smiling in this photo. Barfing makes her cheerful.

It’s amazing what you get used to, though. Like the flaming jets in the fire swamp, each eruption is preceded by an odd gurgle and a very particular kind of grimace, so we’re getting pretty good at minimizing the collateral damage. Visitors to our home who have witnessed the spectacle say that they wonder why mommy and daddy suddenly freak out, and why 10 seconds later, it’s like The Exorcist. However, last night, when I was giving her her pre-bed feed, I leaned her over my shoulder to burp her, and then leaned forward to get out of the chair. I guess we were getting used to her less-burfy 12 week old behaviours, and I let my guard down ... The happy part of this story is that my pre-baby skinny low-riders fit me again. The tragic part is that when you lean forward in low riders, you leave a little bum-exposing gape at the back …

Into which Miss Baby proceeded to powerburf. Check the photo. I yelped out for Pynchon, who laughed and laughed, especially when I snivelled about my ‘hot, wet ass’ while trying to stand up without just making the mess worse. Once upon a time a hot wet ass might have been sexy, but now I’m referring to the puddle of vomit pooling inside my pants. I got undressed in the bathtub. Miss Baby didn’t get a drop on her own outfit, and, of course, was quite pleased with herself for clearing room for second supper in her little baby tummy.