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The title of this post could be the opening line to any parent’s life. There is nothing unique about the story I’m about to tell. Nothing novel or special. It is the reality for any human being caring for young dependents. It’s the story of parenthood.

But that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to tell it with as much hyperbole and mellow drama as possible.

The last time I told such a tale was the Hilton Head trip that shall live in infamy.

So it’s been awhile. I feel that you all are due for some good, bodily fluid filled writing.

Of course this bodily fluid filled writing was postponed because I was gifted with the very same illness that was cause for this writing in the first place. I spent Sunday and Monday writhing around in bed and over the porcelain throne, proving, yet again, that my 2 year old handles throwing up with far more grace than her mother. Just hold back my hair and tell me I’m pretty, damn it!

As you may have gathered from last week’s posts, Sunny was sent home from pre-school on Wednesday afternoon for vomiting, and she threw up a handful more times, causing her to miss school on Friday as well.

By Saturday, however, it seemed that we were in the clear. She was on the mend. James and I were still holding down lunch. Our washing machine was still standing. All was right in the world.

James and I even booked our sitter to come to the house Saturday evening so that we could go out on a proper date. Complete with wine, and live music, and the holding of hands and the rubbing of thumbs, and the promises of some adult romance upon our return home.

We should have known that the cosmos was conspiring against us, however, when Hanna, our super mutt, decided to empty her entire bladder all over the carpet upon seeing our babysitter’s husband enter the house. This dog is particularly submissive with men and has been known to piddle here or there when overwhelmed with excitement and submission, but this pee, it was big enough to fill Lake Eerie. So there we are, all dolled up for romance, wiping up a sea of Hanna piss before even leaving on our date.

And that was just a teaser for what was to come…

When we returned home at 11pm, we opened the door to Donna, our sitter, standing in the hallway with a pillow dripping in vomit, and Sunny standing over the toilet with a puke-mustache.

So there’s that. Apparently letting Addison eat an entire pot of macaroni and cheese for dinner on the tail end of a stomach bug was not the brightest of parenting decisions.

Donna and her husband swiftly departed, and I took to cleaning up Sunny, while James tended to her bedroom.

As we waited for James to finish up in Sunny’s room, I snuggled Addison into our bed. I repeatedly asked if she still felt sick or like she wanted to throw up, as she had been really good about giving us warnings earlier in the week. She insisted no. She just wanted to go sleep in her bed.

As James appeared to carry her back to her bedroom, she frantically proclaimed, “I’m gonna throw up!”

The whole situation transpired in slow motion. Like some horrible, puke-filled drama.

I grabbed Addison and flung her little body across my chest as a rainbow of vomit rained down across me and our bed, all in an attempt to get her to throw up on our hardwood floor rather than the soft, cushy, impossible to launder King comforter.

I hadn’t really thought this through. Clearly.

But guess who happened to be lying directly by the side of the bed, filling in for said hardwood floor?

None other than the Pee Pee Machine herself!

So the crazy super mutt got completely covered in throw up, which caused her to freak out and run for our bedroom door. She looked like she’d just been slimed as a contestant on Double Dare. Not exactly the kind of being you want racing through your home. James managed to tackle her to the ground to keep her from exiting the bedroom, as I finally got Sunny planted on the hardwood.

Then, James and I were frozen. Staring at each other. And we had this moment where through no words, but merely the shock and horror of our faces, we expressed a “Holy Vomit Batman! Now what?!’

You see, as a child I thought that my parents had it all figured out. That they always knew what to do in every situation. However, now, as a parent myself, I realize that we’re all just making this shit up as we go.

So, there we were, improv-ing our way through a room full of vomit.

During our shock, Sunny decided she needed to puke again. Honestly, we just sat there and let her have at it all over the floor as we still had yet to figure out how to untangle this mess in the least destructive manner possible.

I eventually stripped Sunny of her pajamas and offered them to James as dog towels. We then got to triaging our way through the rest of the clean up.

I think James’ series of tweets post-The Incident most succinctly and accurately sum it all up:

Lesson learned. No romantic dates for us. Come back, 10 years.