The Ultrasonic Vomit Sprinkler

As the husband and "old guy" of the family I rarely get to comment on the blog. My reactions are reserved for concern for my wife's well-being and bodily functions of children. Today I have the privilege of recounting the latter.

As you may have read, we had a few hectic times this weekend. Most notably me getting to bail from a pool party in order to work on a Saturday. Leaving a single parent with two kids inside the fence line of a 5-foot deep pool is a little heartless, I know, especially since Jen needed her energy for what was to follow.

Claire has been having a little trouble keeping solid food down lately. After a month of cereal she decided that she would have none of it. During our time in Oregon we discovered her new hobby of dousing the room some 3 hours after her last meal. Being the caring young parents we had the doctor check her and true-to-form the doc recommended some tests--Ultrasound to be exact.

So I figured it was probably "just a phase" or something in the water in Oregon and figured we should try to feed her again... but just a little ... just in case. My co-conspirator mixed a quick meal and Claire downed a whopping 3 bites from a baby spoon or about the content of a thimble. Two concerned parents looked on, awaiting the arrival of Linda Blair but Claire seemed fine. Later she had a bit of a nap and woke up happy and playful.

In the meantime, Jen and I pressed with the plan of re-arranging the furniture to put Kate and Claire in the same room. Kate latched onto her music box that puts her to sleep at night and started walking around the house with it. She set the music box on the coffee table and would hit the button to start the music, and hit the button to stop the music... like you do when you are a toddler and seeking to prove you have power over something.

In came Claire to sit with Daddy and Kate. Daddy decided Claire could hold herself up at the table and watch. Kate decided she could show Claire how the music box worked. Kate, one at a time, would grab one of Claire's hands and hit the button thereby starting and stopping the music. Both kids enjoyed this tremendously and were laughing and smiling in a concerted effort to get Daddy's guard down. Claire sits down on my left knee and I have Kate sit down on my right knee to have a group hug... mommy is getting the camera, but is too slow.

From out of the blue, the adorable child on my knee begins to projectile vomit everywhere... I mean everywhere... her range was really quite remarkable - and the aim too. On Dad, on big sister, on the carpet... down Dad's leg and into both shoes... and after a few second a pause. I had just enough time to mutter comforting words to the toddler (covered in puke) trying to keep her from bolting across the living room dripping vomit, when the whole thing started all over again. Bluhhhh, bluhh.. and it was the good stuff too! None of that wimpy baby-milk spit-up stuff here-- we have full-up 2 am at mardi gras in New Orleans flashbacks, both with the smell and with the pair of vomit-soaked shoes you want to burn when you get a chance.

Kate's hands are up in the air, and I'll remember the "Uhhh... Daddy what do I do?" look for years. I was waiting for the "All done ... all done..." but it never came. She stuck it out, listened to dad and did not spread yak from one end of the house to another.

It suddenly became "Bath Time" and poor little Claire spent the next few hours sleeping it off.

I can't imagine why she keeps getting sick...think it's the beer? Or maybe the pickles.