visit from the past

I was driving home from a ridiculously busy day with Ladybug the other day when I heard a familiar little voice say something that in the past has caused so much fear in me.

Mama, I have to throw up.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I look back at her. She is gonna puke. As I take an immediate right into an empty parking lot, I see every previous puking episode flash before my eyes.

She had been home for less than 1 month. She was curled in my arms. She was sucking down a bottle, preparing for bed. She looked up at me sweetly and smiled. I smiled, feeling pure love. And she puked. I didn't know what to do. If I stood up puke would run off me and onto the carpet. But I could not sit there and wait for it to dry. And she puked, again. Okay, gotta do something. Scooped her up in my arms, using my skirt as a blanket to keep the puke near me. Hopped in the shower, with child, fully clothed.

Her first birthday weekend with me she got a stomach virus. She puked in my car. She puked at the movies. She puked in my bed. Many times. I changed my sheets no less then a dozen times that weekend. It was the only time I whined -- this is why I need a husband.

The time we were driving through the mountains with my mom going away for Thanksgiving. I looked back at Ladybug just as puke bubbled out of her mouth. I say "bubbled" because it was like watching lava over flow the edge of the volcano. We stopped. In the mountains. In November. Two white women stripping a black child down. And there is nothing that takes the smell out of a car quickly. We drove the remainder of the trip with the windows partially down.

I took my computer into the "nerd club" because it was acting up. I was trying to explain the problem to him as Ladybug ran in circles. Literally. She was hanging on those ropes that they put up so you understand how to form a line (because we have not been standing in line our entire lives). She pulled to hard. The pole fell over. Hit her in the head. She screamed. I scooped her up and sat her on the counter. And she puked all over it. The look on his face still cracks me up. I asked for a paper towel. He told me I had to go to the bathroom. In the back of the store! Really???? You want me to take a puking, dripping child all the way through the store? But he did. So I did. I stripped her down to her diaper. Found a ziplock back in my purse -- oh the things moms find in their purses -- and stuffed the pukey clothes in my purse. Oh the looks I got from the women in the store as I took my mostly naked child out of the store.

I started carrying extra clothes with me in the car. One trip I packed 3 easy to find outfits. She puked the first time but it wasn't much so I easily cleaned it up. She puked the second time and it required another outfit change and to scrub the car seat. She puked the third time and it required a sponge bath, outfit change, and to completely dismantle the car seat in order to clean it. She puked the fourth time and I let her sit in it for the last hour of the ride.

So when I heard... Mama, I have to throw up ... on Saturday, I believed her. As I am taking a hard right into the abandoned parking lot of a former Burger King, I am looking back at her. I tell her to use the cup in her cup holder. It is a McDonald's small soda cup. She grabs it and pukes. I stop the car. She pukes again. I get out and walk around to her door. She hands me the cup. It is full. GROSS!!! I leave it in the parking lot. I use the last couple of wipies. And I go home to completely dismantle the car seat and clean it.

At least it was not projectile.

Mean Mama