Me!

I had always thought that little kids spoke in the 3rd person until they were pretty old.  It turns out I know nothing about such things and should probably go back to reading some kind of parenting book (a hobby I gave up when Babykins turned 1).

Without brothers and sisters at home, Babykins is not particularly tough when it comes to defending herself and her toys, so I often see one of the other kids at daycare pull a toy out of her hands and run away.  She's never upset about this, so I just tell her to hold on tighter, then direct her to another toy.

Last week I went to pick Babykins up from daycare and arrived just in time to see her walking across the room with a toy clutched under her arm.  As I watched, another toddler zeroed in on the toy and started making his way toward her.  I started toward the projected collision point, prepared to intervene if necessary.  But just as the boy got close and started to reach his little hand out for the toy, Babykins grabbed the toy tighter, turned her shoulder to block him, and yelled, "No, ME!"

I couldn't decide whether to launch into a talk about sharing or clap with pride.  I settled on a big hug and an internal cheer.  Go, Babykins!

And Why I Especially Hate Airplanes

Warning:  We're still in the gross post series.  But this is the last one, I promise.

We made it on the plane.  My clothes were drenched in throw up, Babykins was still wearing nothing but a diaper and Crocs, and we had run out of both wipes and plastic bags, but at least...

No, at this point there was no bright side.  We had a 10 hour flight ahead of us and no end in sight to the great throw up marathon.

I'll give you the condensed version: Babykins threw up 3 more times before passing out for the rest of the flight.  I changed clothes three times, eventually ending up in my least disgusting pair of pants (which were still extremely gross) and a sweater with no buttons that I wore backwards and secured shut with a hair tie.  Auntie MO spent the entire flight freezing because I had borrowed her sweatshirt when I ran out of tops, and Babykins promptly threw up on it.  The little boy sitting in the seat across the aisle spent the entire flight trying not to look at us.  And because the flight attendants were completely un-helpful, the person who sat in my seat on the next flight was going to have a wet, smelly trip.

Throw up count: 9 (plus once more on the car ride to the Q, but really, by now, who's counting?)

Why I Also Hate Cars and Airports

The carpet was still stained a bright orange, and Babykins was wearing nothing but a diaper and Crocs, but we eventually made it out of the house and started the 20 minute drive to the airport.

Our trip to Pennsylvania may not have started as planned, but at least now I was prepared.  Auntie MO and I both had plastic bags stuffed in our pockets, I had wipes in the diaper bag, and really, after not eating for 3 days, then throwing up twice, how much more could Babykins have left in her stomach?

Apparently, a lot.

By the time we got to the airport, Babykins had thrown up 3 more times, covering herself, her car seat, and most of the back seat in half digested fruit snacks and depleting half of our plastic bag supply.

I popped her out of her car seat and started wiping her down, only to discover a bright red fruit snack lodged firmly in her belly button.  We had officially hit the point of not being able to decide whether to laugh or cry.

Auntie MO and I squared our shoulders, grabbed the bags and a still naked Babykins, and headed for the airport.

Half an hour later, we were through security and waiting at the gate, feeling relief.  This was the longest Babykins had gone without throwing up.  The worst seemed to be behind us.

And then Babykins let go, covering herself, my clothes, and our boarding passes in a huge amount of slime.

Throw up count: 6

To Be Continued...

Why I Hate Froot Loops

Warning:  The next few posts are slightly gross.  Read at your own risk.

For most of November, Babykins was sick.  I mean multiple doctor visits, a trip to the ER, and enough medication to heal a small country, sick.  We were frantically trying to get her healthy, not just because healthy is better than sick, but also because we had a deadline looming in the form of a 10 hour flight to Pennsylvania.

Three days before the flight, Babykins was off her medicine and causing general mischief, which I typically take as a sign that the germs have been defeated.  I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed.  We still had a long flight to survive (without Daddykins!), but Auntie MO was coming with us and I was armed with a portable DVD player and multiple Elmo videos.  I had stared down potential disaster and lived to laugh at it.

An hour before we had to leave for the airport, Auntie MO and I were gathering the bags and feeding Babykins a quick snack.  Our flight was scheduled to leave on time, everything was ready to go out the door, and I was feeling good.  I sat down on the sofa with Babykins to put on her shoes, when she gave a little cough.  Which was immediately followed by projectile vomiting.  And just like that, our rented beige carpet was covered in throw up.  Bright orange throw-up, because for the first time ever I'd let Babykins eat Froot Loops.

Panic ensued.  Babykins was crying.  I was trying to get the stain out of the carpet before it set.  And then I heard another cough.  I grabbed Babykins and made a dash for the kitchen.  We got there just in time for her to throw up in the sink.

At this point, we have 10 minutes until we need to leave for the airport.  Babykins and I are covered in throw up.  The carpet is covered in throw up.  And I'm starting to get a veeeery bad feeling about this flight.

Throw up count: 2

To Be Continued...