Today was the first day that we had a child old enough to puke real, big kid, food half digested puke.
I had just dropped of Eme at her daycare and was on the way to drop off Dario and Cora at their daycare. I was at the stoplight thinking about what I was going to have to deal with at work. New trainees, a pile of "to do", putting the kabash on office drama and having a Come to Jesus talk with one of my CSR's.
Then I heard this gushing noise from the backseat. I turned my head to find vomit shooting out of my sweet Cora's face.
I didn't scream.
Immediately rolled down my window, pulled into a parking lot and freaked out via text to Traci. I didn't want Cora to hear me freaking out about the pile of chunks all over her lap and the chair.
OKAY HONEY!! YOU ARE OKAY!!! *in an overly happy tone that did not correlate at all with the event* *rolling down the rest of the windows* RELAX, DONT TOUCH IT, MAMA IS GONNA MAKE IT BETTER.
I started to cold sweat.
It didn't get on Dario.
He was going to school.
I was traumatized and I needed a hose.
They is just going to have to understand that wherever we go they are going to have to travel with buckets on their laps.