I never thought I’d start a post by quoting Bart Simpson, but seriously, after today’s all-you-can-wipe buffet of vomit, snot and nappy explosions so intense that they had to shut down Heathrow yet again, there’s only one way to kick this thing off: Aye Caramba!
I don’t know what I did in a past life, but I’m starting to have a sneaking suspicion that I did something – not horrifyingly awful, but just slow and painful, like tapping somebody on the head oh so lightly with an egg-beater for about forty years. Either that, or I nagged my husband to death.
The evidence, your honours. 2010 has thus far presented our family with a head-on-collision for moi, a near-weeklong hospital stint for hubby, and then a broken limb for our darling littlest, on his first day of day-care, no less.
But hang on, where was I? Oh yes, bodily fluids. Naturally.
So in the wee (no pun intended) hours of this morning, Mister Six comes strutting into our room, with that beautiful expression that rings in my ears like honey to a bee (do bees have ears? Note to self: rethink your similes): “I need a bucket to puke.”
We sprung into action just in time, and proceeded to spend the remainder of the night playing “catch the yak!” with the little man.
Which was okay. Until this morning, when our very littlest decided to spew forth a raging torrent of the most foul kind from his other end. Which again, would be okay, except did I not mention that he’s wearing a FREAKING FULL-LEG CAST!!!! Here ’tis again, just in case you missed that tiny development.
Be still my beating gag reflex.
Anyway, I’ll spare you the gore, but let me at least finish with this: when you find yourself standing outside Woolworths (our Aussie equivalent of Sobey’s or Safeway, for the benefit of my Canadian friends), with one hand holding your son’s face over a bin while he pukes away in front of passing shoppers, and the other one cradling your toddler resplendent in his broken leg garments, there’s only one thing to do…