A Sunday in the Puke

The day started innocuously enough, with one of our newfound loves -- going for breakfast at a local diner. We've found it difficult, of late, to do things as a complete family. Someone is always busy or sick. The Boy ate marvelously well: eggs, toast, ham, potatoes, strawberries, yoghurt. It isn't often that he partakes of all four food groups in one sitting.

Later on, we had plans to meet Granny at the Eaton's Centre for some Christmas shopping. "Subbie!" the Boy exclaimed. The Boy loves the subway and it generally ends up being the highlight of any excursion. To our delight, Sistah Inlaw and her daughter, Golden Girl came along for the trip. The Boy and Golden Girl love each other tremendously, and can be counted on to entertain themselves.

We immediately sat down to lunch at the Baton Rouge before the kids' hunger peaked. The Boy had chicken tenders and fries. He ate nothing and asked for milk. "The Boy is refusing fries?" I puzzled. He half-heartedly asked for ketchup. He dipped the fries and ate the ketchup off without consuming any potato. My radar flashed. "Do you want to sit with mummy?" He did, of course.

Two seconds after landing on my lap, out came the puke. Not just a little vomit. This was puke of Exorcist proportions, with multiple expulsions. Puke with a consistency and colour that will ensure that I won't eat ham for a very, very long time. If ever. It was all down his shirt, all down his pants, all over my pants, on the table and on the floor. It even managed to hit my suede coat.

We took him to the bathroom and managed to clean him off. We asked if he felt better, and he said yes. But he was wet through and through, and of course, this was the one day that I decided not to bring a change of clothes. Off to Baby Gap. Not cheap, but it was close and sometimes they have fantastic sales. The only thing on the sale rack that fit, and that we didn't already have at home, was a turtleneck and white sweatpants. (White! I know. Who makes white sweatpants for toddlers? Dumb. But desperate times call for desperate measures.) I wasn't so lucky though. I got to walk around in the mall in smelly, itchy pants all day. YUM! Don't deny that you're turned on right now...

It has occurred to me that any one who is a "good mother" would have probably taken their kid home at this point. I didn't, so I guess we all know where I fall on the good-bad mother spectrum. Truth is, he didn't seem remotely sick. UM, other than the puke, that is. He was having a fabulous time laughing with Golden Girl. They ran hand in hand around the Disney store, leaping on stuffed animals. They played a rather rambunctious version of peek-a-boo in H&M. And, they saw Santa! It was a delight to behold. Who am I to let a little puke stand in the way of that? Ok, a LOT of puke.

They were having so much fun, in fact, that neither of them slept at any point. Which, would explain the meltdown that happened when I wouldn't let him smear DQ soft-serve all over his new shirt. But Granny let him hold her ice cream cone, and all was well again. He ate quite a bit.

On the way home, The PUKE made it's second visit of the day. All over his scarf and jacket, in the crevasses of his stroller, inside his jacket and all down his new shirt, and of course, all over the white pants. Sistah Inlaw and I had joked that the pants wouldn't make it through the day, and it comforting to know that I can be right about something. Hope that comfort is enough to last me through the extra load of laundry that I'm doing tonight for the pukey clothes. A whole, entire, load.

The Boy is now fast asleep after a very long day. Seeing the Boy have so much fun with Golden Girl must have turned my head, I think. I feel all gooey. Although it may sound odd, it was an extraordinarly good day. If only I could forget about the puke...