Last week the unthinkable happened.
Fifteen minutes before it was time to take Tricky to homecare he insisted on me picking him up so he could rest his head upon my shoulder. Three seconds later he threw up his porridge and milk all over my back.
I turned him around and he continued to vomit in great Exorcist like streams over both of us. We were far enough away from the couch and the desks and it seemed pointless to move anywhere until he was finished so I just watched as he sprayed the floor, my jeans and Spot Goes To The Park with fragrant white chunks.
That left me with ten minutes to completely change both of us, brush his teeth and sponge the vomit off the floor. I felt slightly nostalgic as I swapped away with the paper towels. Tricky's not a big spewer as a toddler so I couldn't help but think back to those early breastfeeding days of "possetting" and too much jiggling in the air.
Sadly, Spot was stuffed.
Tricky seemed quite cheerful and even complained of being hungry once he was finished, which was a relief because my big fear was that he would otherwise be deemed too sick for homecare. I didn’t feel brave enough to lie to his carer and anyway there was a slight acrid smell hanging around his little body, probably because when I took off his tee shirt I inadvertently rubbed vomit through his hair. I tried to comb it out as best I could and then I put his hat over the top. By the time she took it off, I reasoned, I would be long gone.
As we prepared to rush out the door I realised I could still smell vomit, was it in my hair too? After all, he had been resting his head on my shoulder when he started.
No, my hair seemed fine. Not washed or in any way groomed of course but adequate for dropping off baby and also Naughty Nephews at school opposite. I know not what possessed me but some sixth sense made me feel the back of my neck which is when I discovered the semi hardened oat and sour milk crust. Thus I was able to happily walk the nephews through their school, secure in the knowledge that other parents wouldn't think I had misplaced my facepack.
As it turned out, Tricky was fine, the carer was unphased and even gave him food throughout the day which all stayed down.
And because I suspected the place would stink of spew when I got home and put me off having breakfast, I took myself to a cafe instead and had some very nice mushrooms and spinach on toast. For some reason though, I couldn't bring myself to eat the parmesan cheese.
Quite a good morning really.
5 Fiction Books for Christmas 2017
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