Barfy Barf

I think I'm a pretty good mom to you. I do lots of things right. Whatever "right" means. What I'm trying to say is, I think I'm getting the hang of this parenting job, and I think we make a pretty good team, me and you.

Unless, UNLESS, we are talking about vomit. I am terrible at this part of motherhood.


I have always had a queasy spot for vomit, pun intended. It's just so gross. I was that friend in college that handed my girlfriend a hair tie and then bolted. I think that the film and television industry should be required to post a running ticker, warning viewers of any upcoming spew.

But I guess I've always figured that when I became a mother, all of that would change. I'd be this Super Mom, a beacon of strength with throw up in her hair and heels on her feet.

I managed the spit up part just fine. But this barfy barf stage is new. It's happened twice now. Over-eating and a bumpy car ride. Your dad was there to help with the over-eating incident but the car ride, that was just moi. You were sitting in a grocery cart when it happened (note to self: kids throw up in grocery carts, WIPE THEM OFF BEFORE USE). For a brief moment, we both just stared at each other. I was thinking, hmm, what to do, that's icky. And you were thinking, Jesus mom, do something, this is icky! So I cleaned you up and awkwardly carried you to the car in a way that made it look like I'd never held a baby before.


I will get better at this, I will. Because something tells me this stage will last forever.