is a single mama in the city, super-savvy editor, writer, video host and shameless shoe whore.
In motion. And sick.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007 
I know I have an urpy kid. I know it. I know it so well that, after learning a hard lesson on a plane somewhere above Richmond last summer, I now pack extra outfits in my carry-on. For everyone.
I now carry a big box of wipes with us in the car and often, throw in a roll of paper towels just for good measure. Just like his daddy, my boy needs to keep his eyes on the horizon in moving vehicles. And when he can't, well...have the barf bag ready.
It's not that Lil E always pukes in planes and cars. It's just that when he does, it is so much better not to be totally taken by surprised or totally unprepared. I can handle cleaning nastiness from the crevices of the car seat (why oh why, car seat manufacturers do you make it so fucking difficult to wash a hurled-on cover?) but wearing spots of re-emerging breakfast is just a big no-go. For all of us.
Just like most things parenting, no matter how superiorly prepared I feel, urp happens. And on Sunday, it happened no less than three disgusting, hurling times. In the middle of God-awful traffic on the way out of town with my mom to see my grandmother, then again five miles from the closest exit and then again just when we thought the kid was emptied out and too exhausted to register motion sickness (or maybe that was me).
The first time, once he was stripped down, given the proper baby whore bath with wipes, redressed and placed back in an as-clean-as-it-can-get on the shoulder of the Dan Ryan, I turned to my mom and said, "You know how, as a parent, puke and stuff just loses its disgusting factor? You know how you stop thinking about how nasty it is and just clean it up because you have to?"
She nodded and that led to a big conversation about parents - celebrity and otherwise - who get all oogied out about changing diapers. The reality is, we decided, you lose the investment in the bodily function because your job is to clean it up and take care of the kid.
But after the third time, which came in a sequence of four parts marked Crying, Screaming, Projectile and Oh I Guess He Really Did Eat a Lot of Mango this Morning, I recanted that whole little apt parent sermon.
"You know that whole thing I said," I turned back to my mom, "about kiddie puke losing its nastiness for parents?"
She nodded, eyes closed, as if processing the previous scenes as I talked.
"Total bullshit. Complete and total bullshit. It really is still nasty."
"Yeahhhh," she admitted. And we laughed.
Thank God we could laugh. Because there is nothing else about a 2-1/2 hour trip turned four hours with a toddler who is so busy vomiting and crying they can't nap and the faint smell of aloe wipes and otherwise, that's humorous. Or not nasty.
On the way home from Indiana, we got a little more prepared with a sheet of plastic my grandmother suggested we tuck into Lil E's shirt (so any further nastiness would - wait for it - roll right on down to newspapers on the floor to be rolled up and tossed right on out), refilled wipes, a little lighter lunch this time and a box of children's Dramamine.
So tired from the day before and with a bit of drowsiness-inducing help from the miracle drug, the boy and I slept nearly all the way home. And when we woke up to see the skyline on the horizon, I sighed in relief. It was good to be a little more prepared and good to be home.
Reader Comments (5)
I followed you over from ThatsFit, but I must say, I like it here better. You use the F-word, you write about Urp, you like Shawn Colvin! I'll definitely be back.
I've been obnoxiously littering the pages of That's Fit with my URL, trying to scare up some readers for my fledgling blog. (A little over two weeks old). But I always feel so conspicuous over there because there are so few commenters.
If you ever want to wander over to my place and say hi, or even trade blogroll links at some point, I'd be quite honored.
#2. I will totally come over and visit your blog. I'll even bring the mixins for May Day margaritas!
#3. Welcome. And that's for stopping by!
It's not even in noon in my timezone. Must stop thinking about margaritas.
At least until lunchtime.