Last night, I was doing some tedious magic wand-remove background-save as Photoshop work and even though I was mentally past it (2 glasses of wine - Semillon Sauvignon Blanc) I still managed to hear the feeble bleeting of J (daughter - first born) who had decided that her earlier reported sore tummy was now worthy of crying and thowing up on the bathroom floor. I actually ran up the hallway to try and get to her before said throw up landed on the floor, but was too late.
And right then and there I failed at being a parent.
The sight and smell of J's Throw Up® made me want to do the same. This has never happened before. I have always been kind of too tough for that, but last night I just couldn't take it. I could barely even calm her down from the throw up tears. Tina (husband - 10 years), was shocked and then all hissy fitting when he realised there was no way I was going to go anywhere near it. After what I considered a sufficient time, I ventured back to the vomit zone to find Tina with rubber gloves on, the mess on the floor covered over with paper towel (probably excessive, but hey!) and a plan of attack. He handed me a bucket and I took it to J, who was lying in bed, she then looked up at me with pity eyes because she knew I'd failed her. She knew that she'd be getting no compassion from a be-gloved parent with a can of air freshener and a roll of paper towel. Compassion during illness is my job.
While standing there though, with bucket in hand, I saw the all too familiar signs of more vomitous eruptions and shoved the bucket in her face with a banshee scream of "Don't get it on the bed!" I dutifully held her hair back and when she had finished, handed her the box of tissues. Now that's good parenting!
I couldn't dispose of the bucket contents though and then again at 4.00am when she did it again, but I was certainly compassionate when I forced Tina out of bed to do it.
Is it Time for Wine?
I think so.
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