Have you guys seen this floating around the internet? This Dad texts his wife after his son projectile vomits in the car, and hilarity ensues. In case you missed it:
Anyway, I retell this hysterical tale to the Hubster yesterday morning, hardly getting through it due to my laughing fits. Our day continues on. I pack up Emerson in the car between downpours and we head out to the MVA to get my car’s emissions test done. We make it there and Emerson starts whining a bit in the back seat. No big deal, it’s about the point where she’s probably getting hungry. I hand her back a juice box to occupy her for a few minutes as we wait in line.
The car ahead of me is now going. Then it happens. Emerson coughs, and then she gags, and then she throws up. I slowly turn around asking, “are you….” and trail off because I’m met with a scene that could have rivaled The Exorcist. “okaaaaaaayyyy…?” Sigh. Oh Boy.
I hop out into the pouring rain and silently pray, thanking the universe that I grabbed a full pack of wipes at the last second. I run around and open up her door. I make eye contact with the service man who is now calling me in since it’s my turn. A couple of cars wait behind me. Oh, and I decided it was the perfect day to wear a white tee shirt.
I yell over, “HANG ON, I’ve got a situation! I’ll be right there!” I quickly wipe Emerson’s mouth and face and hands, and hop back in to drive the car up. I hop back out and breathlessly explain:
“I’m so sorry, she just, all of a sudden… BOOM! I… I… I’m really sorry. I can continue to clean her up right? I don’t have to just stand here?” *points to an “x” on the ground where the driver usually stands.*
I get the go ahead from the service man who is probably holding his breath and I reopen her door. It takes every ounce of my will power and strength to not throw up on Emerson, in front of this service man, as I reach for the wipes again.
My car passes, and we’re on our way again. I pull over into the first parking lot I can see and hang out in the downpour as I clean up the backseat the best I can, dry heaving now and then. Soaked in my white tee, with my daughter dressed in some way-too-small, but clean clothes I found in the trunk, we finally head home.
Touché, Karma, touché.