Zen and the Art of Cleaning Baby Puke

Have you ever wanted to rip a pizza slice out of the hands of a passerby or break the glass on the toppings bar at the ice cream shop so you could scoop up huge handfuls of chocolate chips and cram them in your mouth?

I thought not.

And for the record, I've eaten very well this weekend. Some days, I guess, are just like this.

***
A couple of weekends ago, I found happiness while holding my breath, cleaning baby puke out of the crevices of the stroller.

I went down to Washington DC to visit my 16-month-old triplet nephews, whom I have dubbed the trifecta of cuteness. One of the 'phews – Ethan, I'm looking at you – threw up while at a Halloween event at the zoo. (And none of them even eat candy yet, so just think about the, erm, treats future Halloweens may have in store for my poor sister. Or would that be tricks?)

When we got home, my sister and her husband were exhausted and decided they'd leave the stroller outside and clean it properly in the morning. I, too, was tired, and it was dark and freezing outside. But I marched out there with paper towels and disinfectant and proceeded to spend 20 minutes doing a proper job cleaning it. As the Girl-Most-Likely-to-Be-Carsick, I know very well that if puke is not cleaned up promptly, the smell can linger for months. Plus it would be 10 times as hard to clean in the morning.

As I carefully wiped down each little buckle and checked for stray, erm, chunks (sorry), I felt this huge rush of joy. I realized that as recently as a few months ago, I would have done a cursory job, wanting to be helpful (or realizing I should be) yet unable – or unwilling – to follow through.

What does this have to do with food and bingeing, you ask? When I was at my sister's I had not binged for nearly seven weeks, and there is a subtle pink glow – OK, sometimes very, very subtle -- even to crummy days and crummy situations. Which is to say: I feel happier and lighter, and that makes me want people I love to feel the same way. And I am not too fogged out by food – or grumpy-hungry from starving myself – to stand outside and do something useful.

And I genuinely wanted to do it – not just get credit for it. Part of that is because for the first time in about three years, I did not arrive at my sister's super-fragile or otherwise on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I realized as I sat in my sister's kitchen that every time I have been there since the beginning of 2009, I've either been in that horrible relationship with BN2, struggling to recover from that (plus huge financial worries), and then struggling in New York. I also realized that although my sister has never been my biggest or most supportive fan – and although we have a fractious relationship – she has never made me feel like I was too much to deal with, or that my presence was in any way an imposition. (And I'm sure at some points it was.)

I came back inside and put the disinfectant away. About 20 minutes later my sister came downstairs and wearily said to her husband: "I'll deal with the stroller tomorrow."

"Beth did it," he said. (Was that surprise I detected in his voice?) "She spent like 20 minutes out there."

"Thanks," my sister said. Then the next morning she showed her gratitude by, erm, reading the text messages on my phone and yet denying it when I caught her red-handed. Some things never change, I guess.

***

As of today it's been 68 days without a binge, and the past couple of weeks have had their share of challenges: the visit to my sister's, a trip to Chicago, a visit from Friend-Bearing-Chocolate and more. I wish I could post more regularly, and more promptly, but at the moment my work-life balance is still way, way, way out of whack. More on all that soon. Cannot believe Oct. 28 was a year in New York...