You always hear about projectile vomiting with children, but until you actually see it, no words really do it justice. One of the, um, joys of having twins is that if one is sick, it is a damn good bet that the other one will be shortly thereafter. This theory was deployed flawlessly here in the house this week. Zachary’s projectile moment came a week ago Friday – I was working, so I missed it. However, this past weekend I had a front row seat for Nathan’s projectile vomit debut – right in his chair as he was being fed – and it was really something. All I can say is that during the gastro episode, it appears as if a small alien has taken over your child’s body. Their face looks more stunned than anything else. When the puking ends, there’s no crying, no tantrum, no befuddled baby. He’s just sitting there, looking around as if what had just happened was no big deal. And it isn’t, because YOU are the one cleaning it up and freaking out.

Look, I used to be a little mortified about the prospect of cleaning up child vomit. Or a very messy diaper. I always thought that if I saw vomit of any kind, I’d follow shortly with my own version of it. But each time something gross happens, I’m stunned to find out that it doesn’t really affect me. Perhaps I’m just too dialed into the health of the kid to really think about how gross it is. Or maybe it’s just less gross than I always thought it was. I’ve always been afraid of puke. Don’t know why. But my suddenly iron stomach is….well…..a pleasant surprise. I mean, I won’t be scouring the internet for disgusting moments or anything, but…….it kind of feels like progress.

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