Vomit

A friend recently sent me a picture of her five-year-old son. He is holding a Ziploc baggie with dubious contents; it looks like maybe cornflakes with yoghurt and some other vague stuff. The label on the baggie proudly states: “V is for Vomit”.  Gross! I say, but of course I don’t mean it; as parents, we have an uncanny tolerance for throw-up, fake or real, ever since that first bottle resulted in that first geyser.

My daughter must have thrown up on average twice a day during the first months of her life. Breast milk, instant formula, soy; warm, lukewarm or cold, none of it made a difference. After a year, it tapered off, and she’d only hurl if she was actually ill, rather than for the hell of it. After a while, you built up a resistance; kid vomit is still a pain in the neck, but it no longer makes me gag. This is fortunate, as my children tend to announce that they have a bug by suddenly, violently, puking all over the place. There is never any warning; just a loud, out-of-the-blue, Splat!

The nasty part of it is not the clean up itself; it’s the knowledge that they never empty their not-so-little stomachs all at once. You know there’s another wave coming in half an hour, and you’ll be mopping that floor again.  You can’t put them in their beds, no matter how sick they are; unless you want to change the sheets and do even more laundry. Best is to just strip them naked, place them in the shower, and tell them to stay put. Of course, no child would follow that instruction, but it’s nice to contemplate the idea anyway.

No, they’re sick; they feel nauseous and sad, and they want to cuddle. You feel sorry for them and relent, but be warned: as soon as you snuggle them on your lap, the next round of vomit will hit you square in the chest. And, of course, you were so busy fussing over your child; you forgot you were wearing that ‘dry cleaning only’ shirt.

 

There are exceptions to the sick-rule. Children do throw up when they get excited, dizzy, or eat too much candy. My daughter once woke up, ate two yoghurts, and then submitted to her Sit and Spin addiction. She threw up five times; it was fun.

 

All this stomach-related violence is good for something; you can use it as a rationale when you are faced with stinky situations. Is your boss yelling at you? Well, it’s better than cleaning vomit from your son’s train set. Stuck in traffic? Remind yourself that you could be stuck in traffic with a puking child on the back seat.

Also, it’s a conversation killer. When somebody doesn’t want to get off the phone, you start with “you never guessed what happened after we fed Charlie creamed spinach last night” and they’ll be signing off in no time. And trust me, they won’t be calling you back any time soon.

 

I wonder if this works with telemarketers?