Those Flippin’ Bananas

Also known as, “My endless food, poop, puke rant” or “Note to self: Beware the wet burp”.

I’ve given Ben organic carrots (not homemade). I’ve made and pureed him sweet potatoes. I’ve made fresh applesauce from both red and green organic apples. I always get the same face. The squished up, “what the hell was that” face. It’s, of course, to varying degrees depending upon what it is I’ve just fed him but it’s always the same face.

Then, we tried bananas. His eyes got big, his mouth got wide and he squeeled, “He-yeaaaaaaahah!” He loved them. First day, he got a little gas but I thought it may have been from my over-indulgence in Lactaid that week. I cut back. Second day, he got horrible gas. I was still trying to blame it on the Lactaid and had made no connection to the bananas. I cut back even more. Third day, he ate an entire banana and proceeded to have a diarrhea so massive that it shot out of the back of his diaper and all over my shirt.

And, yet, I still didn’t get it. I avoided all solids for a couple of days in case maybe, just maybe, it was the bananas. I also didn’t drink any Lactaid.

When we tried it again, we were at my parents’ house. We pureed an entire banana and he ate it all. I followed it up with Gas X and he had very little gas that night. I thought, “Huh. Maybe the bananas just give him gas.”

But, wait! I get stupider!

He finished about 3/4 of a banana today with 4T of rice cereal & 2T of breastmilk and took his mid-afternoon nap immediately afterwards. He woke up, he played, and then got sleepy again. I tried to nurse him back to sleep and he refused. He never refuses. I stood him up and put him close to my face, “Sweetheart, are you sleepy?”
*burp*
“Awww, was that a…”
*Blauhhhggghhh - he projectile vomits down my shirt, my pants, on the couch, on the floor*
“ERIC! He just puked all over me! Take him so I can change, please!”
Eric proceeds to go for a wash cloth sitting on the couch. “Why don’t you use this…”

He, apparently, did not understand the urgency of the situation. He didn’t seem to get that there was vomit running down my chest and belly and it needed to be remedied immediately. Clearly, he was worried about the couch and not that I was going to have to kill him if he didn’t take Ben so I could clean off the vomit.

“TAKE HIM NOW!”
I changed and wiped down while Eric changed Ben’s outfit. I took Ben back and walked him back to the couch while Eric threw in a load of laundry. I sat down.

“Poor baby! Are you…”
*Blauhhhggghhh*
Another change of shirt for me, outfit for Ben. Another 2 things to go into the laundry. I take back the boy and, by this point, he’s quite pale with no fever and a fierce habit of rubbing his eyes over and over. I start walking him back and forth in hopes of getting him to go to sleep.

“Sleepy boy, you’re not feeling….”
*Blauhhhggghhh*
I’m beginning to think that it’s my voice that’s making my child vomit and am afraid to speak again. While this was a much less prolific vomit (never thought I’d ever type those words), it still required a change on my part. Ben, for his part, managed to miss his outfit entirely. Another shirt for the wash. I, thinking I am being intelligent, put a prefold on my chest between Ben and I to avoid another change.

“Hush little baby…”
*Blauhhhggghhh - misses the prefold, hits my arm - Blauhhhggghhh - hits the prefold, proceeds to wipe face in it*
I know very well I did NOT feed him this much. Where the hell this child is getting his reserves from, I have no idea, but it was really quite impressive. Especially that this particular iteration was more than the first 3 combined. I’m beginning to think he might win an award and am almost sad that Eric was washing all the proof of super puke proliferation down the drain.

“He PUKED AGAIN!” I screamed at Eric, who was downstairs washing away our hopes and dreams for the Best Vomiting Baby award.
“What?!?”
“HE PUKED!” I scream louder.
“WHAT?!?”
“HE PUKED!!” I scream like an angry construction worker with a 2 pack a day habit.
“WHAT??”
“Oh screw you.” I hate being whated when I’ve got puke running down my arms. Our house is not that big. I just didn’t understand why he couldn’t hear me when I’m standing immediately above his head and yelling at the top of my lungs. Of course, he heard that part.

Up he comes, saying something about creaking floors, can’t hear, and takes Ben. I change. Again. Eric changes Ben, I wash off his face. Ben plays with my “Baby 411″ book that tells me, “This is a food allergy, you raging fucktard. What did you think it was? Lactaid?”

I get Ben back on my shoulder and resign myself to being covered in puke. He’s not feeling well and I felt awful for having poisoned him. I sing, “Hush little baby” and he begins to fall asleep on my shoulder. I cringe with every burp. As his eyes flutter shut and I’m hit with the effervecent scent of banana vomit seeping out of my baby’s lips, I think of how very lucky I am to be a mom and how, the moment he wakes up, I’m going to call my own mother so she can say, “HAH! GOT YOU BACK!”

Filed under rant, sick, solids |