The Indignity of Parenting: Vomit

What were you expecting a picture of? Weirdos.

If you are ever as lucky as I am and meet that special someone who convinces you that having children is a fun adventure with a lifetime of rewards ahead of you, you already know today’s story. If you are not yet as lucky as I am, then listen carefully.

Everyone knows that when you share your life with other people, you will invariably have to make allowances for their quirks and agree to help them out from time to time. For instance, perhaps they are very short and need help reaching the top shelf or perhaps they aren’t very good at math and need help figuring out which bills to pay this month. These are simple things easily dealt with and hardly worth mentioning.

Sometimes your partner has a quirk that is not so easy to deal with and that they totally failed to mention until you were legally joined and she got access to your money so you’re stuck with it. As the ink was drying on the marriage certificate, Mrs. RW disclosed to me that she “doesn’t do vomit.” My immediate reaction was one of confusion as this isn’t something someone typically hears on their wedding day, but I figured that Mrs. RW was just playing for keeps in our ongoing “Nonsequitur of the Day” contest. I discovered months later my terrible mistake.

Last weekend was the latest installment of the “Mrs. RW doesn’t do vomit” story. Apparently the Hobbit had decided that it would be a great idea to sneak some chips and salsa into her room and eat it until she passed out. At some point in the middle of the night, she woke up and was violently sick over a significant portion of her room and the not-quite adjoining  bathroom. The Hobbit tried to inform Mrs. RW that she had made a mess of things, but Mrs. RW patted her gently on the head (presumably at the foolishness of our children) and told her, “I don’t do vomit. Go see your dad.”

And so I found myself scrubbing various pieces of the carpet and wall, cleaning up someone else’s mess while reflecting on the joys of parenthood. You’d think that the more I’m forced do it, the less disgusting I’d find it, but sadly this isn’t the case. Not only had the Hobbit eaten all of the salsa and chips, but she had found the single most nauseating way to make someone else clean it up.

I know that some of you worry about my children and on some occasions it is warranted, but everyone can relax. Immediately after making this latest mess for me to clean up, the Hobbit felt perfectly fine and went back to sleep. Yeah, it goes like that.


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