PROJECTILE VOMITTING IS VERY UNDERRATED

Not nearly enough has been written about this phenomenon, if you ask me. I mean, even poo has thousands of books and websites and blogs dedicated to the finer points and meanings of its various colors, odors, and consistencies.

But try to find a little well-researched info on spewing, puking, hurling...and zippo, baby. Nada.

WARNING:

THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPHS CONTAIN CONTENT THAT MAY BE CONSIDERED GRAPHIC IN NATURE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Today, we're homebound. Saia started our little adventure at around 5am with a small, well-contained spray of catfish and veggies -- I think. Mommy was able to coax her back to sleep, but first thing this morning she was complaining that she "just doesn't feel well today."

Less than an hour later, she scored a 6.0 on the pukarama scale when she shot her newly injested milk across the bathroom floor while she was going potty. It was very impressive, let me tell you. There wasn't a square foot that went untouched. She must've been Linda Blairing it, head spinning round and all that because, for the life of me, I still can't figure out how she got chunks BEHIND the toilet!!!

So, we changed her outfit for the second time in less than 2 hours and got ready to head out for school. She insisted she felt better, although she's never really been one to even fully let go of the "I don't feel well" card because of the guaranteed amount of attention it garners. So, I vascillated -- is she really done and better or is she just revving up? Is it just a little bug that we can stabilize or am I gonna be standing over the washing machine all day?

Well, we chanced it...and almost made it across the bridge when I see in my rearview mirror the sudden contorting of her normally really cute nose and mouth into this hideous vessel of a vomit launcher. And two seconds later...BLECH!!!...and she was covered chest to toes in orange juice and bagel. Lovely. Really. And the car seat, oh, the car seat was utterly drenched and actually dripping, thank you very much.

So, I took the first exit, called Amy, the school, my work, and came home. "Clean me up, Mama," she whined. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I promise I'll get you all nice and clean as soon as we get home."

"Are we going to school?"

"No, baby, we're staying home today."

"You, too?"

"Yes, honey, I'm gonna stay home and take care of you."

"Because I throwed up a little?"

"Yes, babe, because you threw up Thanksgiving."