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Spit-Up Ambush

4 February 2013

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I’m trying to get Meatball to come to the table with some ideas on an early warning system for spit-up, but so far he’s not interested in negotiations.

Poop is predictable. He makes that face. You know … that face. Then he gets calm, and moments later, he lets it rip. And anyone within a radius of probably 20 feet is well aware of what just happened. Pretty easy.

The pee fountain is less foreseeable, but quickly addressed, so it’s not so much an issue.

And I know what you’re thinking: How much of an issue is a little spit-up? Lemme tell you … 

Kid doesn’t play by the rules. You know how it’s supposed to go. I know how it’s supposed to go. Eat, burp, spit-up, get on with the day. Not this kid. He cheats.

He eats. I tarp the area and proceed with ascending back-pats. Nothing. Maybe a couple of dry burps. And then as soon as I move him to a decontaminate area, he starts leaking!

It doesn’t matter how long I wait, either. Five minutes, 20 minutes, two hours … he knows the moment the burp cloth is not within arms reach, or at least not under him, and he spits up. I’m convinced he stalls. And I’m convinced he has full control over what’s happening.

It’s the sideways grin I get as I spring for a cloth (or a pillow case, or my sock) and start dabbing. Don’t tell me he can’t help it. He can help it. He knows.

Last Friday night I sat at my desk, closing out the evening, with him and a burp cloth over my left shoulder. He looked around. He cooed. He let out a few misleading belches.

He waited. Stalking.

I finished my emails, and hugged him as I sat back to wait for photos to finish uploading. I leaned my head in, to rub my cheek against his soft cheek, and he picked up his head. He looked over with the biggest baby eyes he could muster, and smiled gently to draw me in. With a soft little sigh, he leaned his bobbly head close to mine, landed his lips right on my lips … and spewed.

I heard the gurgle, and pressed my lips together just in time to prevent eating any of it, but it was enough for him. He laid his head down again, grinned and closed his eyes. Satisfied with his ambush.

So we’re negotiating for some kind of early warning system. A look, a wiggle, a tap on the head and a yank on the ear – anything. ‘Cause I’m trying to cut back on dairy, and I can’t keep doing this much laundry.

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