Every year, I spend a day Christmas shopping with one of my dearest friends. We drop the kids off at school, meet up at 8:15 in the morning, hit up a bunch of stores, have a great lunch, then shop some more. This year, planning this trip was a bit more complicated since she had her 3rd child 9 weeks ago. We wanted to go while she was still on maternity leave, but we had to find a day for her sitter to take the baby, we had to plan for her pumping and we had to be back by 3:30 to pick up her kids from school. Not ideal, but with our mad crazy planning skills we picked a day and were ready to roll.
That is, until the Bean woke up that morning, walked in on me brushing my teeth in the bathroom at 5:15 in the morning and threw up on my bare feet. Nothing in that sentence is exaggerated.
Clearly I’m maturing as a mother because I didn’t scream (didn’t want to wake up Scorch), nor did I vomit in retaliation on her head (temping though). Instead I calmly got the Bean and myself cleaned up (all the while cursing the fates in my head) and then proceeded to hold back her hair and otherwise clean her up for the next 14 hours straight. So my wonderful day of girl time and shopping was replaced by spending the day watching Dora and doing 7 load of laundry.
Thankfully the Bean woke up on Saturday like nothing happened. She was royally pissed that I wouldn’t make her hot chocolate and proceeded to terrorize us all all damn day to make up for being sick on Friday. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she consulted my calendar before getting sick, the little stinker!