Happy Monday. I’m going to talk about vomit today. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Let me set the scene. Thursday night, driving Charlotte to my mom’s. Bumper to bumper traffic on the BQE because why the fuck not? Char and I spent the first half of the journey scream singing PJ Masks songs. She quiets down and starts to tell me her tummy hurts. I assume it is just the straps that are bothering her because that’s what she is usually complaining about. And then I hear some whimpering and then the unmistakable sound of vomiting. I look in the rear view mirror and now see the spew of vomit erupting from her mouth. I start to panic because 1) I am alone with her and 2) I am in bumper to bumper traffic and 3) I am not in the best part of town and now need to get the hell off the highway to deal with this. And then, because things always get worse, I no longer hear her vomiting but I hear the unmistakable sounds of choking. So now she is covered in vomit and choking on said vomit. So I violently pull over to the shoulder and prepare to just get out of the car when I mercifully hear her crying so I know the choking has ceased. Now she is hysterical, covered in vomit and whole segments of puked up mandarin orange. Which boggles my mind because I watched her chew and swallow her oranges so how the actual F are they whole? I do what any normal person does in this situation and call my mother in hysterics. I manage to pull over next to a Ramada in and wipe off the larger chunks of puke from my hysterical child. She is screaming at me “I need a towdel!! (towel) I need a wipe!!!) So now I’m crying and she’s crying and the air is ripe with the scent of puke. I wrapped her up in a scarf I had laying in the back seat (I will not carry an entire wardrobe of towels in my car) and got back into the traffic circle of hell where she promptly fell asleep. In her vomit. In my scarf.
Have kids they said.