We went from “I feel sick” to Vomit Lift-Off in 1.5 hours today. I consider this a victory.
I mean, it’s not a family record or anything. We’ve had middle-of-the-night and out-of-a-dead-sleep yarfing episodes that carry a zero-to-TAKE-COVER rating, so there’s no real competition left there. It’s just, I don’t know, when there’s a kid who’s sort of generally blah without any other overt symptoms and I have to make The Call — send him to school or keep him home — it sometimes takes a while before I get any real feedback.
It’s like being a NASA project manager at every launch ever. You know the launch is coming. You trained for this. You’ve done it before. You’re following protocol. Marking the check-list. The engines are on. All signs are go. The ground is shuddering. The crowds are enraptured. But you don’t know until the very last second if this one’s gonna take off… or fizzle.
This can go on for hours. Sometimes for days. And it’s nerve-wracking. For the project manager and for the poor little guy stuck in the ship.
This time, though? Sometimes it all comes together, friends. The timing. The boy. The bucket. Like a well-oiled machine. Lift-off. Vomit Victory, baby!
P.S. If you’d have told me at the beginning of the mama game that one day I’d consider this kind of day a victory, I’d've cried at my future patheticness. This is why they don’t let us have crystal balls, people. It’s for our own good.
P.P.S. The boy that shaved his head is the same boy who has raging poison oak is the same boy who barfed so successfully this morning. Now, he has access to unlimited Popsicles which makes the entire week, in his words, “TOTALLY WORTH IT, MOM.”
And that’s exactly the kind of perspective he’s gonna need to be an awesome, if somewhat delusional, parent some day.