Why is it that men lose all ability to function at the first sign of puke? Why is it that while I am comforting a spewing little three year old that I am also supposed to have the where-with-all to instruct Mad Dog in great detail?
T.Puzzle had a rough night. He was up fussing a couple times and was whiny and full of whimpers. We brought him in bed with us in the morning to offer him some solace from his obvious misery. He flailed about and when I got up with him, he let out a cry and vomit soon followed. He managed to get most of it in a bowl, but I did get a nice portion down the length of my arm and a healthy dose landed on the carpet.
“Some help, please!” I shout to Mad Dog who is still lying in bed.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks.
T.Puzzle is still heaving miserably, I have slime on me and I’m trying to remain calm. This is all happening so fast that it frustrates me to turn my energy and focus on to how Mad Dog can help.
“I don’t know…., get some wipes, get a towel, just get SOMETHING!”
In his defense (and it pains me to write this ladies), he thought that T.Puzzle was puking in the bowl we already had out and that I had everything under control. We were out of Mad Dog’s line of sight so he missed seeing the puke on the floor, on my arm and the gurgly mess seeping from T.Puzzle’s poor nose (yeah, for all you non-parents out there, it sometimes comes out their noses which of course is superfun).
I know that we all have our moments to shine and we each contribute different strengths and abilities to the whole of parenting. However, just once I’d love to be the parent who isn’t getting slimed.