My Pukey Baby

You know the cliché of the Mum who is constantly covered in baby puke? Well hello there, I’m the cliché. I’m that Mum.

Alex has been a very pukey baby ever since he was born. I breastfed him for the first six months, and as soon as he started to take his first few feeds, he vomited them straight back out. Sometimes it was projectile, sometimes more like posseting, but almost always it was so much that it seemed like he was ejecting at least half or most of his feed.

But he was growing and putting on weight, and it never seemed to bother him much. We’ve had him checked over by the health visitor and several doctors, and apart from suspecting he had reflux – though thankfully not the more painful acid reflux – they all said that some babies are more pukey than others, and that he will eventually grow out of it when his sphincter has matured.

Well, Alex will be one year old in a couple of weeks time, and he is still extremely pukey – and I’m still covered in baby puke all the time. It got a little bit better when we first introduced a bottle of formula at around five months and when we started weaning him onto solids at six months, but overall, he has remained a little vomit monster.

He will still puke up a big chunk of his bottle – often in a spectacularly projectile manner – followed by little possets for around half an hour or so after each feed. And he will frequently bring up his solids a little, too, though this is nowhere near as violent as the milk feeds – but a lot more horrible in terms of smell and regurgitated chunks of food (*sorry*). Nice.

Just an example of  my little puke monster. That's nothing though compared to the 

huge eruptions sometimes. 

It’s literally quite incredible sometimes how such a small person can be so spectacularly sick, and when it’s a really bad case, which happens about two or three times a week, he will cover himself, myself, the couch, the carpet, the cushions and everything else that is in his proximity, and we all need a shower / bath and everything else needs a deep clean. 

I have become that woman who covers everything in blankets and layers of protective cloths, just to guard the rugs and furniture etc. from the big puke.

I have to change Alex at least three to four times a day, because he has covered himself so much, and always take several changes of outfits wherever I go. And as for me – I have become so used to being covered in sick all the time, that it’s only when I see my friends’ or other peoples’ shocked expressions when they witness the vomit volcano erupting on me, that I realise how bad it is.

The worst thing is when he pukes on me just as we are about to leave the house, and when I have to catch a train to London or head office for meetings, all in my nice work clothes – usually you will find me in jeans and T-shirts, my puke absorbing attire – or worse still, when I haven’t noticed that he’s spat and only realise once I’m on the train that my sleeve or my shoulder is covered in baby puke. Dashing to the train station toilet to wipe myself clean has become a familiar routine.

Sometimes I will notice a funny smell coming from somewhere, only to realise that that funny smell is me (!!) and that I’m covered in a nice sticky puddle of baby puke. Eurgh!

I honestly thought he would have grown out of it by now, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. He is still happy, he is still growing, putting on weight and meeting all his developmental milestones, as well as still unfazed by all this, so I don’t have reason to suspect anything more serious than that it’s just “one of those things.”

I have enquired about a milk or dairy intolerance, but the doctor said that he would have other allergic symptoms, too, and that it was unlikely.  So I’m at a bit of a loss. 

He’s got his one year review coming up in a little while, so I will ask the HV about it once more, but I’m almost resigned to the fact that I will just have to put up with the BIG FAT PUKE until it goes away by itself. Let’s just hope that this happens sooner rather than later. 

Because I’m seriously running out of clean clothes.