This beautiful Sunday morning was greeted at 4:00am in this household by Audrey puking all over my bed. Just how old does a kid have to be before they trot their sorry, nauseous ass into the bathroom to puke? I would accept just about any receptacle in the bathroom: toilet, sink, bathtub, garbage can, shower stall. Even hurling onto the tiled floor would be a vast improvement over my bed.
Audrey beelines it to my bed as if that is precisely where she is supposed to go. She does that hand-over-her-mouth-barely-holding-it-in move until she's right over my bed. Talk about a rude awakening. Dinner last night was lamb roast and Swiss chard, which actually made for not that gross of a pukefest because:
1) She didn't eat that much of it. Because it was lamb roast and Swiss chard.
2) When she's not crazy about a meal, she kind of swallows bites without chewing...so it comes up almost exactly as it looked on her plate.
It's now just past noon and I'm on my 18th load of laundry. I feel like total shit, but she's running around feeling just swell. And Lauren was awakened to this text, which would seem sort of accusatory if you didn't know Audrey:
"You puked in Lynn Hudobas bed"