Public Intoxication

Have you ever had one of those situations that was so embarrassing and horrific that you were CERTAIN it had to be a dream and that there was no way this was going down in real life? So caught off guard and taken aback by the production that you have no doubt, at any moment you will wake up and go "Wow! That was weird." but knowing full well this IS actually happening and there will be no awakening? This was my yesterday.

I was so excited to have the opportunity to meet my beautiful niece for a bite and some adult conversation. Boy Wonder and I dropped the fe-mini off at school and we hooked up with her after Pilates class and a quick trip to the store. Everything seemed within sorts, in retrospect, there was no reason to believe anything would go awry.

My niece decided she wanted a bite from a local Boulder eatery (which will remain unnamed for the sake of anonymity and any further embarrassment) so we took a leisurely walk inside and luckily were about the only people in the place. Out of nowhere my boy became very irritated and whiny. He put his arms up and asked to be held which he NEVER does. That should have been my first clue that something was off. So I picked him up and when he got face-level his whining increased. My niece was finishing up her order and stepped aside from the line. Then the boy cried to me, "My teeef hurt!" and arched his back, drew up his legs, threw his head backward and started really crying. Being that this boy rarely cries from pain my brain was processing, trying to figure out what was wrong all the while the stoned cashier was looking on as if to say "Are you guys going to order something or what?"

Two seconds into the mental processing, the crying halted and was replaced by a fully opened mouth of flowing stomach lava that was evicted ALL over everything in a 3 foot radius--a chocolate milk extravaganza. I can still see the whole thing in my mind's eye--in slow motion. My hair, as luck would have it, was for once NOT up in a pony tail and was blown backward with sheer force of stomach contents. I, again, think of Lard Ass from Stand By Me shooting projectile excretions onto every object in range. Once it registered that this boy was, in fact, embarking on a Barf-o-Rama my horrendous & poorly tuned maternal instinct to put him down and let him defile the floor kicked in. As I write this I cover my face in embarrassment that this was my gut. I guess in that split second I figured that it was better the floor than my entire person. The floor was going to have to be cleaned up regardless. After I put him down I reached for a fountain drink cup on the counter top and put it under his chin but of course, by that point he was done. All that was left was the wake of disaster and one very sad toddler. The cashier kind of "huffed us" as though to say "Are you serious right now!" He seemed more irritated than anything else. And I felt the blood rush to my face and felt like I was going to cry of humiliation. I assessed the damage and noticed he had barfed out an entire section of snack chips that sat on the rack at the register. Awesome! My boy was standing in the middle of this puddle of doom looking like he had just polished off a fifth of Jack Daniels. Poor guy looked totally glazed over and out of it. He just looked drunk. How do you even START to clean up something like this? It was a literal hazardous waste zone. They passed some paper napkins over the counter and my niece and I got to work pushing and pooling the mess on the floor. We tried to wipe him down but he was just covered. My niece removed his shirt as I pushed puke on the floor, and all she could say was "Do you think we could get a mop out here!?" I was too horrified to speak any directives. I just kept saying "I am soo sorry! I am soo sorry!"

Finally the guy with the mop rounded the corner. I have never been so happy to see anyone in all of my life. PLEASE just erase this mess from the floor and remove any evidence of its occurrence from the premises. Times like these I wish there was a mind eraser to eradicate such from my memory. I continued to clean the floor and the guys behind the counter continued to look on with apathy mixed with irritation. The dude with the mop finally said, "I'm going to have to ask you to pick up the napkins." I almost said "No shit!" but didn't want to push my luck and piss him off...clearly I was not long on luck this day.

As he mopped they were nice enough to issue us a garbage bag for our clothes. Thank GOD I wore layers and could at least remove the larger, outer portion of puked on paraphernalia. This would be a much different blog had I been forced to walk the windy streets of Boulder in puke pants and a sports bra. Another fortuitous mention is the fact that I miraculously had a spare set of clothes in the diaper bag for the boy. Poor guy had been through enough. Making him chill in vomit attire just seemed too much to ask. The only misfortune of the clothing crisis was that the outfit belonged to his sister. I was desperate. He was going to wear these clothes and that was the end of the story. Running around Boulder trying to find an acceptable outfit for a 2 year old boy that doesn't cost $300 seemed like a stretch at that point so I was down to cross-gender my son for the sake of cleanliness and hygiene. At this point he really seemed no worse for the wear. His cheeks had regained color and he didn't mind dressing in drag one bit. My beautiful, God-send of a niece had hosed him off in the bathroom sink, washed his shoes, hands, face--being every ounce of mother that I was not--while I was washing my hair in the opposing sink as well as my hands and face, removing my clothes and any trying to wash off any trace spew from my apparel. There's just something about regurgitated, previously digested milk that emits a smell unlike any other. I finally looked at my niece and said "Would you mind if we went back to your house and showered?" There was just no getting away from the stench short of a shower and a washing machine. Interestingly the only thing that didn't stink were his shoes! Hats off to my girl Suzanne, a diligent employee of Vans footwear, who sent Chase some Christmas Kicks this year. They were COVERED in splatter and cleaned up perfectly. My niece who has the nose of a bloodhound bravely raised them up and declared "I can't smell a thing! Amazing!" I am still in awe at how she handled the whole situation as though this was her child. Completely unphased by all accounts and was a sheer genius in keeping me calm. I am forever indebted as I don't know how I would have fared without her. As she put it, "You would have been crying your eyes out." True story! Instead I was apologizing profusely and trying to push aside the humiliation. At the end of the day, "Shit happens. Buy toilet paper!"

This gives new definition to the phrase "Walk of Shame." I have done this walk before but never under these pretenses. We surfaced from the bathroom and I walked back to the register, hair dripping wet, to pay for the "damages." The guy gave me the look like "NOW what do you want?" I sheepishly apologized yet again and stated that I wanted to pay for the cup and the chips that my kid rendered unsellable. His face looked kind of surprised and he said "We'll get a tally for you. One minute." Soo, 3 minutes and $20 later he sweetly says, "Would you like your receipt?" All I could do was laugh! Did you seriously just ask me if I want black and white proof of this situation to take home with me? I replied "Yes, I will frame it and hang it in his bedroom." Finally he was laughing. He then went into a dissertation about how he didn't believe that this was a "sick" vomit but instead an "I ate too much" vomit. I almost inquired as to where he received his medical training but again, didn't want to stir the hornets nest. I just confessed to him that he had never done such a thing, wasn't sick this morning, caught me completely off guard and flatfooted. He seemed relieved. He then chimes in "Ya know, we can't sell those chips for obvious reasons but you can certainly take them home with you." Again, I laughed. To me this sounded absurd! If you can't sell them why on earth would I want to consume them? That is just disgusting! I imagined the Hubba's reaction to a box full of "Chuck Chips." And even after hosing them off I would be constantly reminded of the situation--I just didn't want to go there. I told him I'd pass. He insisted "They are vacuum sealed so really they should be fine to eat. We just can't sell them." Again I took the hall pass. Upon going out to tell my girl about the ludicrous proposition I jokingly asked: "You wouldn't eat them would you?" She mulled it over for a second and then piped up "Sure. I don't see why not. It'd be a shame to just throw them away." I pictured us out on the streets trying to peddle our puke chips to the bums and getting turned down on basic merit. I was actually relieved that she agreed to take them as I did feel bad being so wasteful but truly couldn't come to a place of peace in serving previously spewed upon snacks.

As we showered off at my niece's house I could hear her in the kitchen diligently disinfecting the packages of chips and I had to laugh. Not in a million years did I foresee the outcome of this day. I learned many valuable lessons about my child, myself and my family. "In it for the long haul" came to mind. We all survived the situation without spontaneous combustion and I combated my biggest hurdle of pre-motherhood angst. The thing that worried me most before having kids was that if one of them puked I would run for the hills. Puking is my Kryptonite. Always has been. How on earth could I tell a kid "I love you, but not enough to stand by and watch you puke. That's where I draw my line." I begrudgingly admit that I wasn't the Super Mom I was hoping to be in the situation as I didn't hurl myself in front of the "bullet" and take one for the team but I also didn't throw him across the room so I am going to have to be happy with little victories. Even though I will never be setting foot in this eatery again, I left with the knowledge that it could have been MUCH worse and I took the nugget that when my kid says his "teef hurt" I best be heading for a trash can!

Another adventure in the life and times of a Mommie!

You'da never know the kid had puked an hour earlier.
Still looks like a boy even in girly-man clothes :)