Cloudy with a chance of spit-up.

Parenting is a lot like the weather in New England; if you don’t like it, wait 5 minutes and it will probably change.

Caroline recently started dabbling in the “yeah sure I’ll sleep through the night” club. The first night she did it, I put her to bed around 8:45 and she slept straight through until 5:30AM. When she woke, I trotted gleefully to her room across the hall, merrily changed her diaper and settled in to breastfeed her before getting my own morning routine started.

I usually feed her in bed in the morning, so I brought her back to our room and climbed into bed. As any breastfeeding mom will tell you, my boob fount overfloweth after that kind of down time (DESPITE pumping at 11:00PM). She nurses for a few minutes, all is well. I sit up to burp her, and as I’m lifting her to my left shoulder I can already hear the telltale gurgle. As she becomes vertical, what seems like the entire contents of her tiny tummy erupts from her mouth and arcs perfectly, hitting me square in the chin, soaking my hair, dripping down my belly and finally pooling on my freshly-washed bedsheets. There was no escaping its trajectory. The only feeble defense I could muster was to breathe “eep” before being doused.

It was like a movie scene.

Caroline found the whole situation to be quite amusing and grinned at me as she dangled at my arm’s length. Laughing myself at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, I mopped up what I could and then dutifully finished feeding her before finally getting in the shower. Nothing says happy Friday morning like the smell of fresh spit-up in your hair.

So that’s that. Another parenting lesson learned the hard way: consider nursing in a rain poncho.

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