Nothing says “it’s your birthday” like tacos, Prosecco, cupcakes…and puking all over yourself.
That last part was the Threenager, not me.
Why, you ask? Because she was crying so hard, her gag reflex went crazy and she puked up the entire contents of her stomach. Something she was good at as a baby as well, and the main reason she ended up co-sleeping with us, starting at 5 months.
Why was she crying? Because I yelled at her. And while I’ve yelled at her before, for silly things, and I’ve begun to develop that “Mom tone of voice” that makes a kid tremor in their socks, this was above and beyond that. Enough to really upset her.
Why was I yelling like that? Because she slammed the door in baby C’s face so hard, you could hear the crack on his skull through the whole damn house. And he did the 10 second silent, open-mouth scream, before launching into a high pitched howl of pain. And I got really fucking mad.
Sooooo as she got progessively more upset, her crying turned to gagging. I could see where things were going, and quickly tried to calm her down, but it was too late. As I was getting her changed, half her meal came up and covered her naked body. Chunks of cheese and chicken, mixed with strawberry buttercream icing and a distinctive white chocolate scent, all came flowing out of her mouth and slid down her arms, chest and stomach. And because the Husband was trying to calm baby C down, I had the honour of cleaning all that shit up.
Happy. Fucking. Birthday.
The hilarious part is that, as I was cleaning the Threenager up, I was thinking to myself, “Well, at least this will make one HELL of a blog post…”
(for the record, the rest of my birthday was positively dreamy. I got to sleep in until 7:45am, the Husband made me chocolate chip pancakes, I was treated to a mani-pedi and lunch by one of my closest friends, and I ended the day with tacos, prosecco and the best cupcakes known to mankind. Plus I got about a million birthday messages. Thank you, Facebook, for reminding everyone that it was my birthday!)