Zen Pukism
So funny how it is that on Saturday nite, whilst enjoying a lovely evening with friends for a yummy salmon dinner, with five kids running amok, the subject of vomiting offspring came up. I was commenting on how bizarre it is that some people are grossed out by the gore of childbirth, when childbirth is nothing, at least in terms of gross bodily fluids, compared to parenting. My friend Karen was talking about her friend who caught her child’s vomit in her hands. Anyway, at least childbirth occurs in a hospital (or maybe not for you homebirthing hippie types) where the mess is confined to a small, otherwise sterile area, where you do not have to live, and where someone else cleans it up. Can you see where this is going? Surely you can, as poop and vomit stories are the bread and butter of parenting humor. Hackneyed though the subject may be, I simply cannot resist blogging about it.
How to describe it? Wall-to-wall-puking occurred to me. My friend Anna used to talk about wall-to-wall-fucking, but somehow wall-to-wall-puking doesn’t have the same ring, as wall-to-wall fucking has a figurative aspect (or not) that the wall-to-wall puking does not here. Anyway, point made about extent of said vomiting. Poor S-phie. It was such violent, unrelenting vomiting for hours and hours and hours. And diarrhea, and yes, both at the same time. She said, between heaves, “I . . . hate . . . when . . . this . . . happens!”
I write about this incident because it made me grateful for the small (or not so small) things. Since Anna's death, I am trying to be a tiny bit more Buddhist in my approach to life, thanks to my friend Maase, and in this context that means expecting vomiting, accepting that it is going to happen and will be gross, and just living with it and not feeling all disappointed about it. And then I find that I can see how good I really have it – not sure if this part is Buddhist – but it is working for me. So, here, I was just so elated that I have a washer and dryer in my house. Vomit-soaked were: down comforter, sleeping bag, pillow, sheets, two blankets, favorite stuffed animal, bedskirt, bed rail, and book jacket (not machine washable). But b/c I have a washer and dryer on-site, this was not a catastrophe, just a minor pain in the ass. I was also happy that I have a porch where I could put the pukey items-in-waiting and thought about what if I lived in a tiny NYC apt. how I would have to embrace the vomit stench in order to be Buddhistic, and that since I live in a house I didn’t have to get that Zen, which is good, b/c I'm not sure that I could. But then I realized that in NYC there’s always the fire escape for the items-in-waiting and so maybe parenting is about being crafty and Zen.
p.s. Speaking of Anna, check out our new blog about her.
p.p.s. what happened to my old font, blogger? It was like Georgia, only sans serif. Shit.
How to describe it? Wall-to-wall-puking occurred to me. My friend Anna used to talk about wall-to-wall-fucking, but somehow wall-to-wall-puking doesn’t have the same ring, as wall-to-wall fucking has a figurative aspect (or not) that the wall-to-wall puking does not here. Anyway, point made about extent of said vomiting. Poor S-phie. It was such violent, unrelenting vomiting for hours and hours and hours. And diarrhea, and yes, both at the same time. She said, between heaves, “I . . . hate . . . when . . . this . . . happens!”
I write about this incident because it made me grateful for the small (or not so small) things. Since Anna's death, I am trying to be a tiny bit more Buddhist in my approach to life, thanks to my friend Maase, and in this context that means expecting vomiting, accepting that it is going to happen and will be gross, and just living with it and not feeling all disappointed about it. And then I find that I can see how good I really have it – not sure if this part is Buddhist – but it is working for me. So, here, I was just so elated that I have a washer and dryer in my house. Vomit-soaked were: down comforter, sleeping bag, pillow, sheets, two blankets, favorite stuffed animal, bedskirt, bed rail, and book jacket (not machine washable). But b/c I have a washer and dryer on-site, this was not a catastrophe, just a minor pain in the ass. I was also happy that I have a porch where I could put the pukey items-in-waiting and thought about what if I lived in a tiny NYC apt. how I would have to embrace the vomit stench in order to be Buddhistic, and that since I live in a house I didn’t have to get that Zen, which is good, b/c I'm not sure that I could. But then I realized that in NYC there’s always the fire escape for the items-in-waiting and so maybe parenting is about being crafty and Zen.
p.s. Speaking of Anna, check out our new blog about her.
p.p.s. what happened to my old font, blogger? It was like Georgia, only sans serif. Shit.
posted by mama at 12:24 PM
3 Comments:
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Belated comment -- this sounds awful!!! I felt so sorry for poor Sophie (and you) while reading this. But you heroically turned your suffering into art, and for this I thank you.
Ah the cosmic link between us! Just today we have been drenched repeatedly in puke. The first avalanche was cheese and raisins, right on my pillow, and in my hair. And I have morning sickness, so I was not far behind...
I defintiely need to be more zen; I leapt up and carried him to the bathroom where I held him over the toilet but Jody just held him close and gently shushed as he let loose his curdled milk down the front of her sweatshirt.
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