Yesterday I took the girl to get some new Stride Rite shoes at the outlet mall (yes, they have one in Camarillo. Rock on!). On our way home, I thought, "Hey, wouldn't a trip to Costco be swell right about now?" As I rounded the corner into the parking lot, I heard and odd noise, looked in the rearview mirror and saw vomit shoot from The Girl's mouth. It wasn't that orangey-looking chunky stuff, this was chocolate-milk and cheese colored. Three or four more urps later, I finally found a parking spot and started the clean-up and extraction process.
First off, she looked at me and said, "What happened?"
ME: "You just barfed, honey. Does your tummy hurt?"
GIRL: "No. What was that?"
M: "Your chocolate milk just came out of your tummy."
G: "It's on my clothes."
M: "I'll get you all cleaned off."
No tears or anything. Such a trooper.
THANK GAWD FOR LEMON-SCENTED WET ONES. I used about eleventy million in four minutes getting the residue off. It also helped with the chocolate puke stench. Once she was extracted I stripped her nekkid in the parking lot. I totally flashed back 35+ years to my mom doing something embarrassing like checking the crotch length of pants I was trying on right in the middle of the department store. Did all of you have this same sort of experience as a child or was it just me? Anywhoo, back to the trauma inflicted on The Girl. She loves it when I change her diaper in the trunk (I know, more therapy ahead). So I put her nekkid self down on a blanket in the trunk while I wadded up the barfed-on clothes and put them in a bag. She just wanted to play in there for a while, so there I was trying to clean puke from the car seat straps while she was just having a blast with her toys in the open trunk of the Passat. Thankfully, no one called child protective services. Ten minutes later, with a clean diaper on The Girl and puke still in the crevices of the carseat, we were on our way home.
As soon as we got going she asked for her sipper. Um, no. How about some water. Two minutes later, she wants more water. Sure. Then all the way home she tells me that she wants pasta or mac-n-cheese for dinner. And apples. And chicken. And a popsicle.
Guess it was just a bit of car sickness because she ate all of the above (and more) and never had a problem again. Wish I could say that about the car. I washed the car seat cover but need to take the scrub brush and Method grapefruit-scented cleaner out to get the rest of the stuff off the straps and buckles and latch-y things. Gross.
And what was I thinking the entire time I was cleaning up the kid and the barf? The Mother's Mantra, of course, "I love being a mom, I love being a mom, I love being a mom..."
Well, actually that and "breathe through your mouth, not your nose."