The day I've been dreading since Eamon was born came on Thursday. He got sick. Except it didn't turn into a full-blown bug, thank goodness, so I still haven't experienced a real fever or a baby up all night coughing or puking or having diarrhea. That said, I have now experienced vomit. And it is nothing to sneeze at. We left around 2:45 to run an errand. Several miles up 35, I looked in the mirror and saw Eamon spit up, but it was projectile spit-up, something I'd never seen him do. I was on the phone with my stepmom, Gwen, and mentioned it to her. Then, a few seconds later, huge amounts of vomit (not spit-up) started pouring from his mouth. Pouring. Oh my God, it was awful. I shouted into the phone that I needed to pull over, and I hung up. I pulled off the highway and into some parking lot and went back and tried to clean him up, but realized there was too much vomit to do anything about. So I just wiped his mouth and chest and got back in the car and drove home. He threw up three more times, the last time as I was pulling into the driveway.
There was puke everywhere. He was sitting in a huge pool of it and was pretty much covered from head to toe. And it smelled like adult vomit, by the way. I carried him upstairs and bathed him while TJ took care of the car seat cover and went to get some Pedialyte. After being bathed and changed into pajamas, he seemed to feel okay and was smiling and playing with his toy elephant in the swing and then on the floor. He got fussy after about thirty minutes, so I rocked him to sleep and he slept for two hours. No more throwing up, no fever. Go figure. He's been his normal, happy self ever since:
So I wonder what it was. He hadn't started a new food that day, but I'm wondering if the breast milk I mixed his cereal and banana with was bad somehow. Guess we'll never know.