Wednesday afternoon. The end of the week. We are on the bus headed home. G is strapped into her car seat, left thumb in her mouth while her right hand is twirling her ringlets. This is her decompression time. She is happy to zone – especially at the end of the week. She loves school, but it is hard work being two!
She reaches for me, wanting a little snuggle. I lean over, stroke her forehead, and tell her I love her ‘bunches and tons’. She then puts her hand to her mouth, briefly.
Time freezes. I’ve been here before. This is the brief lull before – yup – the puke comes. And comes. And comes.
I grab handfuls of chunks and then empty my hand into her lap, ready to catch the next round. I kiss her head and, with my clean hand, stroke her forehead. I tell her I love her and it will be OK. She doesn’t cry. She never cries when she throws up.
When she is done and covered with breakfast, lunch, and snack I clean her face and neck and tell her we will take a bath when we get home. What does she do? She wants to clean up the mess. Right now. And starts picking up chunks and using the already nasty wipe to move bits around.
I told you it is gross, but true.