I feel like maybe I need a disclaimer up here. Like, don't read this if you've just eaten. Or don't read this if you have a weak stomach or a vivid imagination. But let's be real. You read the title. You know this post is about vomit. If you are a mom (and most of you are), you are, by default, the chief vomit officer in your household. You've dealt with this live and in technicolor. Probably more than once. You can handle a few words on a computer screen.
I call him the Stealth Vomiter, this child of mine. Have you ever heard of a kid who is able to throw up without needing to tell the whole world about it as soon as it happens? The Stealth Vomiter, he can barf, toss his cookies, bow before the porcelain throne, and if I'm not right there to see it happen, I would never know.
Now, you might think this is a good thing, a child who can vomit discreetly, who doesn't need his mama to rub his back or offer him a drink. Less work for the mama, right? Less likely for the mama to be gagging and swallowing down those sulfur tasting burbs as she's "comforting" the child. Independent, self-sufficient child, right? But you would be wrong.
Because the Stealth Vomiter has horrible aim (I think it's a result of his sensory challenges). I'll just be minding my own business, walking along, when suddenly, I will happen upon one of his puddles. I might not even know he had been feeling sick (because, apparently, he doesn't realize he's feeling sick until he starts spewing).
If I'm lucky, it'll be somewhere like the couch, or his bed, or very occasionally, if it's not the first ralph of the day, in a bucket. My friends, when this child hits the bucket, I feel like I hit the lottery. Even if he still doesn't tell me about it and hours later I have to follow my nose to the jackpot. If I'm lucky, I don't look down to realize I just stepped into a big puddle of upchuck. With my bare feet.
Not for sissies.