Dooney

Before I tell my Dooney story, here's a little background for those of you who don't know my son very well:

When Ben was about one years old he started vomiting A LOT, especially during a mealtime or right after it. Not to be gross, but we're not talking about a little spit up, we're talking the whole nine yards. Sometimes I was blessed to clean it up in the car, or in his bed, on my couch, or all over my carpet. He almost never got sick on the kitchen tile floor or in our laminate floored hallway... no, never in a place that could be mopped up easily. And it happened once a day, sometimes twice a day, for four or five days a week. Obviously I took him to the doctor and we discovered he has: 1) acid reflux, and 2) an underdeveloped esophagus muscle that doesn't always contract correctly to bring the food into the stomach. I was told this would go away with time, once his stomach and esophagus muscles were strengthened and had grown bigger.

After several more trips to the doctor, and several months of vomit later, we figured out if we fed him small portions, allowing him to get up and leave the table when he wanted (while also feeding him standing up to allow for a clearer passage) that it helped to control the vomit situation. So this is what we did for several months. Right around January of this year (when he turned 2) he stopped vomiting, and we've been vomit free for about 5 1/2 months! Yay!

...Until the past couple of weeks...

Only the difference now is he can communicate a little better since he's older and he motions to his mouth when he is about to get sick. So now on to the funny part of this disgusting story (I'm really sorry if you were eating during all this and now can't digest your snack)...

We were in Carls Jr. today sitting in a booth, and next to me was Ben, across from me was my Mom and next to her was Jake. Well, in the middle of our lunch Ben stops and puts down his nugget... and so I stopped eating to watch him carefully. Sure enough he looked at me with his huge eyes and pale cheeks and pointed to his mouth and said, "Sick!" Now any normal Mother would probably say something soothing to him, stroke his back, tell him to take deep breaths... not me. I knew what was coming! I yanked my $300 Dooney and Bourke bag away from its spot on the bench between myself and Ben, dumped it on the floor and scooted it under the table toward my Mom. Then I eyed Ben suspiciously, and while I hurriedly lifted him out of the bench I paused at the edge of the table thinking he was about to show us his lunch right then and there, I glanced down at my bag and back at Ben... bag, Ben, bag, Ben... and realized if he got sick on the floor it could splatter onto, or worse, into my bag. Thinking only of myself, I kicked my bag further beneath the table and ran with Ben to the bathroom. Luckily we made it just in time.

We came back, resumed our eating and I gingerly picked up my Dooney and brushed off the lint particles it had accumulated. I looked at my Mom and said, "How do you like that? My son is about to get sick and all I could think about was 'please don't get sick on my $300 Dooney'. How ridiculous am I?!" She started laughing at me and then I started laughing at me, and while the boys finished their lunch I gingerly tucked my Dooney up against my side, back in its rightful place.