Pop quiz, hotshot. A child crawls into bed with you and wants to cuddle. Two seconds into the cuddle, she sits up and vomits all over you. What do you do? What do you do?*
If you’re me, twenty minutes after the event, you tweet the following:
Having a child crawl into bed with you is sweet. Having them puke all over you is not.
— Marilyn Belsham (@ALotofLoves) February 16, 2012
But what happened in that intervening twenty minutes? I’ll let you decide. I either:
1) Calmly placed her on the floor, wrapped my vomit-covered self in a nearby blanket in order to contain the dripping, and ushered her into the bathroom to clean the both of us up.
2) Shrieked “Oh my God!” while simultaneously leaping out of the puke pile on my bed and tossing my daughter in the direction of the nearest washroom door. The combined hysterical screaming/crying emanating from both myself and my daughter caused my son to come racing into the room whereby he immediately started jumping up and down while shouting “Where’s the puke?! Where’s the puke?!”, and I yelled something along the lines of “Stop it! Stop it! Help your sister open the bathroom door!”, in between my own retching that was so violent I was brought to my knees as tears streamed down my face making the mascara that I wore the night before (but had neglected to remove), streak down my cheeks in black rivers.
It’s quite obvious the goddess of health has forsaken my family. I think I’m allowed a few moments of motherhood fail.
Anyone know where I got this (modified) quote from? If you know, let me shake the hand of a fellow pop culture geek.