Some days – a lot of days – I wonder where my children’s real parents are. You know, the grown ups? The adults that know what the hell they are doing and look cool, calm and collected while doing it?

Because I’m not that parent.

Except for when I have to be. I had to be on Saturday night. About 30 minutes before bed time, the Bean (who had been 100% fine up until that point) started saying she didn’t feel good. I quickly ushered her off to bed and hoped that what ever it was could just be slept off. She fell asleep quickly and I went to watch TV and fold laundry completely unaware of what was to come.

Around 9:20 I heard this odd noise and a whimper, so I went darting up the stairs to see what was going on. You guys, I found a scene out of the Exorcist. The Bean puked everywhere. On to the floors, walls, doorways; down our vanity and the side of the toilet, on to the shower curtain. Essentially every where excerpt for where she should have puked as she tried – and failed – to make it to the toilet in time.

It’s a well documented fact that I don’t do puke. That’s the Hub’s job. But the Hubs wasn’t home so guess who had to be the adult? Yup, me. Somehow I faked it. I cleaned the Bean up, cleaned my house up, threw the first of two loads of laundry into the wash and got the Bean back into bed (with a bucket by her side) without 1) vomiting myself, 2) crying or 3) just giving up. If that’s not an adult, then I don’t know what the hell is!

48 hours later and my poor baby is still miserable. This is how she elected to sleep for 2 hours today even though she hasn’t been physically sick for almost 24 hours.

Yes, that is my bathroom floor. Thank God I cleaned ever nook and cranny of it after she got sick Saturday night so I didn’t get too many heebyjeebies when I found her asleep like that. Could she get any more pathetic!?

Here’s hoping she’s on the upswing tomorrow and I can go back to waiting for the legit grown ups to show up.