No, Christmas didn’t come early this year but I did wake up in the middle of the night to a strange sound that only happens once a year.

It wasn’t Santa, unless he was the one who threw up on my child’s bed and then disappeared leaving her looking guilty.

The other day at lunch, I had a discussion with someone about how nice it is that our kids are finally old enough to make it to the toilet and we can get through flu season without having to replace carpets or sell the house.

How does a conversation involving vomit get introduced at lunch?

Simple, I had just told my dining partners about almost eating feces right after changing one of my daughter’s diapers (years ago) because I thought it was guacamole. I still can’t believe they hadn’t heard it before. The barf to toilet discussion was an obvious and welcome transition.

Also, anytime you say out loud that your kids are master barfers it’s going to backfire. It has to, you arrogant, bragging idiot.

Poor Hanna woke up to someone throwing up in her bed.

It was her.

She had come home from school feeling well, she went to a 90 minute swim practice and did it without complaining (at least not that I could hear from the stands where I was bragging about how well my kids always make it to the toilet when they’re sick). We came home, she had a snack and went to bed.

We just weren’t expecting this kind of wake-up call and neither was she.
Imagine the feeling of sleeping peacefully and a moment later, heaving into your pillow with no warning.

Sadly, in the confusion, wondering if she was having a nightmare, thinking she might have caught a glimpse of Santa racing out of her room, she was able to moan one simple, exhausting, nail-on-a-chalkboard, word, “Mom.”