Oh mama said there’d be days like this…It all started when my two-year-old woke up with a soaked diaper, which of course means soaked sheets. No biggie, I figured, and innocently moved on with my day. Poor me; I had no idea what my kids had in store for me…pun intended as you will learn.
Next, we met my mom for breakfast as our favorite diner. The moment we sat down, my four-year-old covered her mouth and started coughing, puffing her cheeks out to contain the tidal wave of puke that was about to soar into our morning. My instincts kicked in and I whipped her out of the booth, dashing through the restaurant toward the bathroom like I was running away from a bomb. Ironically, I was running toward one.
No sooner than I opened the door to the restroom, my daughter let loose with an explosion of puke that would have been impressive had I not been the one who had to clean it up…off a public bathroom floor, her clothes, her arms, hair and face.
Once we’d collected ourselves, it was back to the table to attempt to salvage the breakfast; my appetite was kinda destroyed, shockingly. My mom had promised to take the kids to the toy store nearby, which would turn out to be fairly uneventful. But why, or why didn’t we go home after that? Why, God Why?!?
Instead of turning our doomed ship around, we decided to squeeze in a quick trip to the shoe store for school sneakers. My daughter was pale and exhausted, so why did I make her try on $50 Hello Kitty sneakers as the store associate looked on? Suddenly, my first born was flashing me the international sign for “I’m going to puke,” again. Without thinking, I grabbed her, unpaid for shoes and all, and dashed toward the door of the store as my mom called after me, “You can’t take the shoes outta here!”
In those horrible seconds, I weighed my options: rip off the shoes and risk my daughter throwing up all over the cheerfully colored carpeting or shoplift. I chose the former. In my mind, I saw her puking all over the shoes that may or may not properly fit her. I hadn’t seen a sign that said, “You puke on ‘em, you buy ‘em!” but I’ll assume that’s understood.
Thankfully, she didn’t get sick then and I was able to pull the shoes off her feet and toss them inside the door of the shoe store mumbling a timid, “sorry,” while my mom collected my other daughter and we retreated, defeated to the car.
Once home, I cleaned up more puke and another overflowing diaper. It’s only noon, so who knows what the rest of the day holds. Can’t wait to find out.