I have always been a trendsetter. In high school, I got sent home once for wearing pajama pants to school. Nowadays, I’m pretty sure they issue you a pair when you go in for registration. We had cupcakes instead of a wedding cake back in 2002. A few years later, everyone was dying to pay $20 for a high-class cupcake. We were the first of our small circle of friends to have kids. Now? Unprotected sex is all the rage.
So, in the spirit of trendsetting, I’m writing about vomit, because poop is, like, sooooooooo yesterday. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’ve already told the mother of all poop stories. Time to move on to bigger and better things! Onward and upwards!
BARF IS THE NEW BLACK!
Vomiting is one of the most disgusting things a human body can do, hands down. I don’t really have a problem with any other bodily functions. Poop and pee (mine and other people’s) are a normal part of my life. Snot is gross, but no big deal. I’ve never been affected by the sight of blood or guts. And pus? Shit, I go looking for videos of that on YouTube at least once a month.
But puke? No way. For me, it’s mostly the smell. There is nothing in the entire world worse than the smell of someone else’s puke. It’s one of those smells that you forget how godawful it is until you’re right up in it. Even bad BO isn’t that bad. Once, during my illustrious career with a major video store chain (not the one that rhymes with “cockduster”) I literally got knocked backward by a man’s insane body odor. Now that I work with college kids every day, I’m pretty immune to that smell. However, as often as my own kids have barfed on or around me, I still need to step back to collect myself when that smell smacks me in the face.
A few months ago, our house survived Pukeocalypse 2012 (again, not to be confused with the Turdageddon of 2011). Phaedra and I were thankfully the only two affected by it. At one point, we were puking one right after the other, leaving Rob to just stare at us and shake his head at how pathetic we were. He thought he was pretty hot shit with his non-barfing body, until the next night when his butt went all out of control. At least I kept control of my butt.
First rule of Barf Club: always keep control of your butt.
A few weeks later, in the middle of the night (which, seriously, why do kids always puke between 12am and 5am? What’s wrong with puking in the daytime, when we all have our wits about us and can actually see the vomit, so as to avoid laying in it and then going to work the next day with hair that smells like puke?), Bella woke up with growing pains in her legs. Being the parenting genius I am, I tried giving Bella the pain medicine she already thinks is disgusting while she was laying down. Which caused her to gag, which then caused her to barf on our bed. So here we are at 4am, stripping a king-size bed, dragging pukey bedding down to the basement, trying not to grab the blankets anyplace that we didn’t explicitly check to make sure isn’t covered in vomit because OH SWEET JESUS I TOUCHED IT I TOUCHED IT GROSSSSSSSSSS, trying to create a much shittier version of the perfectly comfy bed we were all sleeping in not five minutes prior using the TV afghans from downstairs, and then realizing Bella’s legs still hurt because she puked up the medicine, which was the entire point of this debacle to begin with.
It’s amazing when dumbass comes full circle.
I think we’re done with this whole puking business in our house for awhile, though. I know at least Bella has moved on: just a few days ago, she decided to take an enormous dump in the middle of the kitchen floor. I looked at her and I was all, “Girl. Poop is so out right now. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to shit on the floor after Labor Day?!”
Just kidding. I flipped out. Then I picked up the turd and flushed it away.
Some things never go out of style.