I dont normally talk about my 5 year old throwing up. Not online, not in person, not on the phone. Its the trademark slobbery, dripping, flu mess that anyone whose had a toddler needs no help imagining. But today was one of those pull-back-the-curtain, transparent days, one of those perfect Mommy storms. The set up: Last week, my two year old had a severe reaction to Penicillin. He had to go to emergency care twice. It was rougher than normal, but we still bucked up and went on with life. A couple days in, I headed to Philly and NYC for 5 meaningful but emotion-filled days of conversations about race in America and our response to Eric Garner. I returned late last night and crashed into bed, certain when I woke up this morning, I was going to have a Get-A-Grip-On-It Monday where I tackled travel laundry piles and backed up work emails and caught up 1000% by 12:00 noon. That was until 11:28 when my doorbell rang, my five year old began projectile puking, and the conference call on which I was supposed to be presenting all began at once and I found myself just for today breeching normal social etiquette and telling anyone and everyone I know (and some people I barely know) that my corner of the world must pause for a moment because today is suddenly reserved for one very special, very hot, very tired, very whiny puking toddler. That goes for you too, Internets. Youll just have to wait til tomorrow.
Posted on: Mon, 15 Dec 2014 18:37:18 +0000
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