Another First

I smelled something dangerously wrong as soon as I slid Quinn's bedroom doors open. She was standing in her crib screaming. I reached for her in the dark, to comfort her and find her body to pick her up. I touched the back of her head, my mind quickening to answer what is this smell? I felt her hair, covered in slime. Her shoulders, slime. Her face and hands. Everywhere I touched she was covered in vomit. She was screaming and confused.

Sam had just come home ten minutes prior to her waking up. His first night out in weeks, or months, and he had traveled a long way. Everything is a long way from here, so it is amazing he was home, and somehow I think he was meant to be. Other than the occasional baby spit-up, Quinn had never vomited. She had never experienced anything, in seventeen months, like this.

I picked her up and stood her on her changing pad, turned on the light and saw clearly the horror of it all. I called to Sam, desperate for his help. She steadied herself on my shoulders while I stripped her of her saturated clothes. The smell, of course, was unmistakable now that I was awake, slowly processing what I needed to do. I turned on the shower, stepped in and took her from Sam, while he waited with a towel. Her hair was matted and twisted around pieces of carrot and other unidentifiable chunks. She clung to me, arms around my neck, still so confused by the violence of it all: The middle of the night. Her first throw up. And no words to explain it to her.

What scared me most was the fact that she must've slept through the actual act of throwing up. She must have been sleeping in the mess for some time. How else would it have gotten on the back of her head? And everywhere else? Why didn't she wake up?

Thank god she didn't choke. Thank god she did wake up.

While Sam dried her hair with a towel, I stripped her bed, wrapped her pink blankets up in a ball and carried them to the basement to start the wash. We brought her to our bed, willing to risk having her throw up on us rather than go through it again, alone. But from then on, she was fine. She slept on my chest or pressed against my side for hours. I laid there awake, staring at the profiles of my two loves sleeping…just enough moonlight to make it all clear.

There are plenty of days when I tally my complaints in life. Sam's imperfections among them. I'd like to not be the kind of person who keeps track, but sometimes I am. That's why a night like last night is important: it gets me back to a zero balance…nothing owed. One of the reasons I've always wanted Sam in my life is that he is steady…the steadiest person I've ever known. When he sees me starting to spin out of control, he gets a little more alert, a little more tuned in, and a lot more calm. When Quinn is screaming and covered in vomit and I'm nervously pleading for him to help me get the shampoo, he is quietly doing what I need him to do. He never tells me to calm down. He never tells me I'm being hysterical or ridiculous. He just helps…he takes care of things.

Last week an issue of Vanity Fair showed up with George Clooney and two other guys on the cover. Inside, the three actors answered a series of questions. I read Clooney's first. I compared his answers to the other guys. He made the other guys look like boys. He seems like a class act.

I was struck by the fact that some of his answers sounded like answers Sam might give to the same questions. So, as Quinn settled into sleep upstairs, and Sam made us tea, I started asking him the questions and casually jotting down his answers…right away it struck me as the kind of information I would like to save…

Clooney got a portrait that made him look like a stud, so I
thought Sam deserved one too...Corey took this one
back when we were still clearing our land.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

A morning to sleep in with my wife.

What is your greatest fear?

Letting you and Quinnie down.

Which living person do you most admire?

My dad. My mom. My wife.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

My temper.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Entitlement.

What is your favorite journey?

My favorite journey? This marriage and our kid.

My favorite trip? I'm still trying to find it.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Patience…and, well, thrift crosses my mind too, but no, I like thrift, thrift is good; I'm starting to get on board.

What do you dislike most about your appearance?

My nose.

Which living person do you most despise?

I don't like to think about despising people.

Clooney said the President of Northern Sudan.

Oh, yeah! Good for him. I despise the President of Sudan too…And George Bush wouldn't be far behind. And Cheney! I despise Cheney more than the Sudanese President, even though that's a bit illogical.

Which talent would you most like to have?

Singing. Musical talent.

What is your current state of mind?

Tired.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

My temper. I'd be kinder…less given to getting angry.

If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?

Nothing. Really, nothing…I'd make my siblings wealthier so they'd have more peace of mind.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

The small beast upstairs.

What is your most treasured possession?

I'm not that into possessions.

Where would you like to live?

All over.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

Kindness and a sense of humor.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Kindness and a sense of humor.

What do you most value in your friends?

Kindness. Intelligence. Loyalty.

Who are your favorite writers?

David James Duncan. John McPhee…hmm…

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?

Mr. Fox.

Who are your heroes in real life?

Martin Luther King. Pat Tillman…

What is it that you most dislike?

Bullies. Loud-mouthed bullies.

How would you like to die?

Either quickly and painlessly doing something I enjoy, or in my sleep.

I like Sam better than George Clooney. 

I do not like the smell of vomit. 

I'm glad that Quinn got my nose and that she did not, last night, die in her sleep.

The college years are going to be hard on me, aren't they?