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...
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