While following baby waste containment protocol this morning, Maggie turned her head, looked at me, threw her pacifier out and in one fluid movement pushed herself up an inch or so just far enough to spew a stomach’s worth of breast milk on the spot where I wanted to continue my marathon of 3.5 hours of uninterrupted sleeping.
I’m going to need a bigger spill cloth as two feet by two feet isn’t cutting it. It’s also become apparent that even a larger cloth is going to get soaked through by the amounts that my little barf monster is now producing.
Based on initial liquid expulsion rates from birth to now (two months,) I can project without a doubt that by this time next month will need containment capabilities roughly equivalent to an oil change bucket from Jiffy Lube. By a year we’re looking at a need to hover the baby over the toilet constantly just to remove the dampness from the house.
It’s really disconcerting to have charted Nashville’s next great flood occurring sometime in 2017 originating from my daughter’s inability to maintain fluid solidarity, or perhaps imminent desire to coat all that is decent and good in this world with the contents of her character.
Luckily at least she’s cute when she explodes. I don’t personally remember getting any joy from coating my parents in slick white milk, but I’m sure it’s an amazing baby game I’ve just forgotten.
Turns out I seem to have forgotten a lot of being a baby now that I think about it.
On the up(chuck) side, I got into work fairly early and am managing to get a lot of stuff accomplished before people show up and start asking about my barf monster.