A few weeks ago Jack got sick in the middle of the night. He came into my room to tell me that he was feeling funny, and I stood with him next to the toilet for awhile. Since nothing was happening, and he was yawning, I put him back to bed with a "barf bucket" and passed out. A few minutes later I hear him crying, so I go into his room to find him standing in a small lake of vomit. GROSS.
(I'll skip the cleaning up part of the story--it was unfathomably disgusting.)
He was fascinated by the event, and proceeded to talk about it for the next few days with avid interest (my interest, on the other hand, had beyond waned). He was even announcing to people that he "threwed up several days ago." Not cool at the grocery store, Jack.
Since The Event, he has taken to announcing non-chalantly, "I think I need to throw up" and then standing in the bathroom over the toilet for several minutes. Usually this happens after I have issued an order like, "Jack, get your shoes on, we're going to school" or "Jack, put those Legos away." So any inherent drama in the throwup threat is now dead for me, and I think at this point I have seen, smelled, heard, and witnessed so much barfing that someone could puke right on me and I would not flinch. (Universe: that is not an invitation.)
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