Categories: Cecilia | No Comments

I spent last night caring for a sick Cecilia.  Chris was out of town; there was vomit involved.  I’m a bit traumatized today.  I am, however, quite impressed with my kiddo.  With the exception of waking herself up puking, this kid managed to hit the barf bucket (i.e. trashcan lined with Kroger bags) every time.  She was calm and steady.  Cecilia did whimper a bit between up chuck session, but she figuratively kept her shit together when she needed to.  This is not a one time phenomenon - she even had this skill at age 4.  I know this is a strange thing for a parent to be proud of, but it puts joy in my heart. The less regurgitated food for me to clean, the better.

But like I said, between sessions, she didn’t keep it together.  Cecilia must have a grace under pressure skill.  As her mom, I know my child doesn’t have that kind of attentiveness and precision every day.  For example, my child cannot undress properly.  BEFORE you get concerned about me discussing my child undressing on the internet, let me explain.  The clothes in her laundry basket are all jacked up, especially pants.  Most people take off their pants similarly to the way you’d scoot out a sleeping bag - a little bit of unzipping, a little shimmying, and a little pulling it down.  My kid removes her pants as if she was peeling a banana.  She grabs the waistband of her underwear and pants and peels them down, turning them inside out in the process.  At this point, the unders/pants combo shucking comes to a stop -  they’ve hit a bumper - her socks.  More pulling, more stretching.  The socks pop off into little balls that lodge inside the inside-out pant legs.  It now appears that her pants are wearing underwear on the outside and have kneecaps made of socks. Hopefully, at this point, she puts them in her dirty laundry basket, but probably not…

Washing and folding her laundry feels like a puzzle.  It sort of reminds me of those Chinese fingercuffs that require you to relax in order to escape.  I just have to remind myself to relax, especially when I’m dragging those still wet little sock balls out of her pants.  Sock balls do not dry in the dryer.  I dream of the day that she can do her own laundry.  Six is old enough, right?