2 hours ago
Friday, February 6, 2009
It's Your Party, and I'll Barf If I Want To
Around 5 pm we headed over to Mimi's for Jamie's birthday dinner. The girls were excited to get out of the house. I ditched them this morning so I could take my Body Jam class at the gym, and neither one was incredibly happy to be left with T. As we walked out to the car, Michaela Byrd was beaming and Natalie was playing choo-choo train, a game which consists of me following her as she ambles down the sidewalk singing "Chugga, Chugga, Choo-Choo" in her loudest voice. I bet the neighbors think she's in the gifted and talented program at preschool.
By the time we had arrived at Mimi's, the anticipation of cake was thick in the air. Su-Su, who is a really talented cook, made an awesome meal. Jamie requested a chicken casserole with rice and broccoli and a squash casserole. Su-Su wasn't thrilled with the starchiness of the menu, but he is the birthday boy, after all. Natalie's refusal to sit at the table should have been my first warning. Girlfriend can chow down with the best of 'em, and she never misses an opportunity to be social. She put up such a fuss that I told her to go play in the family room, but reminded her that there would be no cake until she ate some dinner.
Enter throw-up. About 10 seconds later. All over Mimi's new couch and the hardwood floor. I think she was subconsciously getting back at me for not just letting her have the cake already. It amazes me how calm I am able to stay when a small person is barfing everywhere. We cleaned her up, and that was that. No fever, no chills; she just wanted to lay down. I think T must have slipped her some sort of treat earlier that upset her stomach.
Mimi was exceptionally gracious (those words were typed dripping with sarcasm), and muttered about how she has not had a couch stay "new" in 20 odd years. Jamie just stayed in the kitchen and ate his dinner. He must have mustered some real internal fortitude for that. The look of abject horror on his face the last time he witnessed one of my children throwing up was evidence to me that he is nowhere near ready for parenthood.
You have not really arrived at Motherhood until you have cleaned up throw-up. Or caught it in your hands. Or held a baby while they throw-up all over you. Ah, the joys of Motherhood.
I'm crossing my fingers that I don't spend tonight cleaning up more throw-up. We only have so many sheet sets. And only two couches....