Premonitions, Please

Why can't I ever learn?

It was only 48 hours ago that I was feeling blissful over the fact that poopy diapers and indeterminable encounters with throw-up in all of the wrong places were all together a thing of the past. Over the last few years my children have all made it safely to the toilet whenever there was an infrequent episode of upset stomach, so I was feeling rather secure in my ability to cast all of my fears about having to clean up my children's vomit behind me. I was so WRONG. And when it's half past midnight, I don't like being wrong.

The fact that this very undesirable scenario had everything to do with gluttony instead of real illness made the job of cleaning up even more detestable since my seven year old had earlier crammed her belly with unacceptable amounts of food in an attempt to taste everything on the menu at her favorite restaurant. And since it's a habit for her to let us know how full her tummy is after every meal, I completely dismissed the cautioning voice inside my head when she advised me shortly after tucking her into bed that she was feeling rather bloated. Her exact words to me. Why couldn't she just tell me that she was on the verge of spewing out all of her dinner so that I could park her ahead of time next to that beautiful big white bowl perched on tile flooring?

Needless to say, I didn't handle myself well at all. My children know they need to come to me when these situations occur because Daddy just starts gagging at the very mention of a disaster of the projectile kind, and since I'm less than thrilled about the idea of having to clean up his misfortune right next to theirs, the initial joy of the catastrophe is always mine.

After stumbling into the bedroom and making a preliminary assessment, my assumption of the cleanup was that it was going to be minimal since it looked as though she had made it all the way to the doorway of her bedroom before letting loose. Therefore, I quickly began to concentrate on the carpet. That was mistake number one: Never assume that an uncontrollable expulsion has occurred in an isolated area.

With carpet clean, I made my way to her bed to find an even bigger surprise waiting for me on the floor and in between her bed sheets. Feather pillow went directly into the trash. Mistake number two: Never assume that your child made it to the doorway.

At this point it is safe to say that I did follow through with the one premonition left for consideration: that barf could in fact be EVERYWHERE. How another child can sleep through a blinding light and a ranting mother, I'll never know, but my youngest was doing a fine job of defying consciousness until I made the final realization that her sister had spread an ample supply of slimy goo all over her as well, at which time, she was unpleasantly yanked from beneath her covers.

"Children grow up much too fast."

Did I say that? I can't believe I said that.