Y is for Yak

Yakety Yak Yak Yak…

Being vomited on is not for sissies.

You need strength, endurance and a good poker face. You need a stomach of iron because there are no gold medals for Synchronized Dry Heaving. It also helps if you have a plastic bag handy, but good luck with that.

During the first year of the child’s life, you were likely prepared for such an event. You carried around burp-clothes, extra blankets, wipes, and several changes of clothes. But as the child got older, you slipped. And once the child was out of diapers and not having accidents, you stopped carrying anything other than your purse.

You smiled knowingly at new moms who lugged around suitcase-sized diaper bags. You enjoyed your free arm and not having to take two Motrin for the pain in your shoulder. You forgot every single reason you once carted around a spare of everything.

That was precisely when you heard, “Mama? I think I might have to throw up or something.”

Depending on context, a phrase like that could have meant several things.

If the child did not like dinner, it meant, “Your meal SUCKS. I’d rather go to bed at 5:45 and sacrifice my desert and family games and story time than to eat one more bite of this pork and sweet potato shit. I told you not to make this for me anymore.”

If the child was so bored that all they could bear was to watch TV, it meant that their manipulating little brain reminded them of the Being Sick Perks. The part where you set them up on the couch with their pillow and favorite blanket. When you tucked them in all snuggly, rubbed their head and left them alone to their shows because they were too “weak” to do anything else.

But since you were at the dog park with a stream to play in and a playground nearby, your kid probably had to puke.

Even still, you actually had some things going for you.

1) The child was fine all day.

2) You had several Target bags in the back of the stroller for the dog, who only used one. This meant you could have double-bagged the event, had you believed the forecast.

3) It was the weekend. The whole family was there. And since your husband drove home and you squeezed in the back between the car seats you could have made this work if you weren’t so cynical of your own child.

You could have even earned enough MommyPoints to make up for the ones you lost that morning when you refused to play baby dolls again. (Yes, you offered a game of  “Tuck Me In Under The Blankets and See How Fast I’ll Fall Asleep,” but all that earned you was a temper tantrum and five demerits.)

4) TWO’s diaper bag, while much leaner than a First Child’s Diaper Bag, must have had something you could have used when the need presented itself. For crying out loud, you could have just used the freakin’ bag.

Frankly, there was absolutely no reason why she had to vomit on your person.

You could have insisted that she put her head back and close her eyes. You could have shoved the bags back under her chin even after she pushed them away. And you certainly should not have allowed TWO to distract you with her delightful game of “Look-At-Me-After-I-Tap-Your-Shoulder-And-I’ll-Laugh-Because-I’m-So-Happy-You’re-In-The-Backseat-With-Us.”

So you basically deserved it.

And BTW:

Vomit is wet.

It’s warm.

It’s stringy and chunky.

It slides down you skin. Seeps into your clothes and seat belt.

And as a bonus you’ll get to keep the sour smell even after two hot showers and new clothes.

It’s worse than skunk.

Good job.