There’s the moment you can tell someone is gonna hurl all over you and the moment they actually do. In between those two moments is that period where everything happens in superrrrr-slowwwww motionnnnn and you can do nothing but watch as your youngest projectile vomits all over you, your bed AND your favorite flat pillow that’s taken years to get just right.
This isn’t the first time that’s happened. Or the second. You’d think I would have learned by now to DO SOMETHING—or at least get out of the way.
And now he wants to eat cookies and go to the park because he feels SO! MUCH! BETTER!
I want a do-over.