I had three, count ‘em, three baby showers when I had my daughter, Angelina. They played lots of those crazy shower games, the ones where you can’t say baby, or where you have to learn to diaper the baby while blind folded, and then the women who had children all dished out the advice.  At the time Brad and I worked for a large church in Tulsa. My pregnancy was front and center for thousands to be a part of.  The night I delivered they announced that I was in the hospital during the midweek service, a few minutes later there were 21 people in my room.   Twenty one people. I felt like Shamu at Sea World. Lots of people with lots of advice. They talked about the noise that these little people could make, the feeding, the changing, the relentless responsibility… I took notes, I wanted to know everything.  I also read the all the books, visited the websites, I did my research.  As prepared as I thought I was, there have been quite a few times over the last eight years where I thought to myself, “Hey, why didn’t anyone warn me about this?”

I remember getting sick as a kid.  I remember my mom being there for me.  Sitting at my bedside, stroking my hair, bringing me ginger ale and crackers.  One time we were in Vons and I threw up in the frozen food section.  We had just had spaghetti and believe me it was not a pretty sight. I remember my mom loving me, helping me…nursing me back to health.  I just assumed these mom-like qualities came naturally. I guess I assumed that once the baby popped out – the magical mom skills would come right along with her.  No one prepared me.

No one told me that when your kid vomits his entire days worth of meals all over your relatively new car that you don’t automatically jump into Florence Nightingale compassion mode.  No one warned me that the first thoughts that come to mind might be more like, “No0000oo!!!! Could you have not removed your shoe and puked in your shoe? Why my leather seats?!!!”  and that you’d have to stifle those in favor of ones like, “I’m sorry honey, you’re gonna be okay, Here, you if you feel sick again… you can use mommy’s purse.”  I had no idea that the first prayer that comes to mind might be something like “Dear God please let the smell of stomach bile and strawberry milk come out of my floor mats.”   And definitely no one prepared me for what it would be like as you tried to calm your own gag reflex while cleaning up the contents of somone else’s intestines.

So last night, while me and an extra large bottle of Resolve cleaned out my car in the driveway, I thought to myself, “Someone should tell them.” I made a solemn vow, right then and there, when these life lessons come to me, I will share them with you. All of those things they forgot to mention.

So there it is. The truth about vomit.

You’ve been warned.