Deep Thoughts

My daughter threw up last night. As a mother, I wanted to rush to her, take her in my arms, and tell her everything would be alright. I wanted to make her feel better. As the person who mops the floor, however, I just had to take a moment to step back and marvel. I must say, when my kid does something, she does it big. The fallout  was spread three feet wide, five feet long, and (I kid you not) produced a splatter zone that was up to eighteen inches high in some places. Floor, mopboard, cabinet, and door - nothing was spared. At least it was on hard flooring. I shudder to think of what would have happened if it would have been on the carpet. I think that would have been cause to just torch the place and start anew. At the very least, FEMA and the National Guard would have had to have been called in.

But, there were no reinforcements coming, so it was up to me to handle the situation. I honestly did have to stand there for a moment and just try to assess how on earth I was even going to deal with it. There weren't enough paper towels in the western hemisphere to tackle this mess, and all of the rags I considered using were trapped in the bathroom, on the other side of Lake Lost-It. So, I headed outside, filled a bucket with water at the spigot, and grabbed the mop. Thirty-five minutes and three bucket-dumps later I had made a path wide enough to get in to where the rags where stored, so I could start on the woodwork. Needless to say, there are more diverting ways to spend an hour, but none more worthwhile.

What is it about being a parent that makes us able to handle such situations? There are no classes that teach you how to clean up puke. And, it's a task that most people would avoid at any cost. Yet, there I was, at 10:00 at night, mopping away with a smile on my face. What is that intangible element that makes us willing to deal with boogers, and puke, and poop so willingly - even joyfully? You can't bottle it. You can't buy it. It can't be concocted or forced, or even pretended. That's right, ladies and gentlemen - it is love, pure and simple, and it wells up from a spot somewhere deep, deep within us when we need it most.

Which, I guess, is a good thing. I've always believed in fighting fire with fire, so to speak, and the only way you can deal with something that literally comes from deep, deep within (like my daughter produced all over my bathroom floor) is with something that figuratively comes from deep, deep within. I'm just glad that expressing that deep, maternal love doesn't leave a splatter zone, and can be safely done with carpeting and soft furnishings around.