Kudos to G$ for starring in three consecutive blog posts! Your shenanigans are second to none, my son!
Fortunately for the world around me, I seldom puke (what a disgusting word, let’s use hurl from here on out).
This is no small wonder considering that I eat like crap and drink too much. I have a pretty strong stomach and almost always manage to keep my lunch where it belongs.
When I do have occasion to hurl though, It’s never pretty. Even were we to plan the event ahead of time, with drop cloths and a plastic bucket to hurl into at the ready, I’d still manage to get it all over everything in the room except the drop cloth and plastic bucket.
It’d be on the ceiling, in my hair, my wife’s hair, the walls, the tv…everything! I don’t know how I do it, I black out when I hurl and I’m in no state of mind to control my actions. There is crying and yelling and groaning and arms flailing about in all directions.
Is it pathetic? Yes.
Genetic? Apparently not.
Little G$ has followed up his recent head wound episode with a current bout of projectile vomiting. Sorry, projectile hurling. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he’s sick so soon after having spent three hours with an open head wound in an emergency room waiting area filled with disgusting, sick, white trash people who were apparently too weak to lift their arms to cover their mouths as they spewed germs all over one another. Try as we did to stay to the side, away from the herd, they found us.
A special thank you goes out to those trying to be nice by walking right over to him and talking directly into G$’s face to ask him what happened to his little head. Uh, not to be rude, but get the fuck away from him you dumb, sick hoosiers.
Anyway, little man woke up and had hurled all over his sheets and crib (sorry momma) at some point during the night. While in his high chair he projectile hurled whatever he had just tried to eat for breakfast. Then again a few minutes later…more projectile hurling. It went on all day long, until he ran out of anything to hurl from his little stomach. All the hurling nearly had the wife and I hurling, which would have been neat.
I marvelled at the boy’s ability to simply spew hurl from his mouth without missing a beat. No crying, no arm flailing, and once, he even got most of it into a bucket intended for such an occurence!
It’s as though hurling is as natural a part of his life as breathing. He just does it and carries on with whatever it is he’s doing at the time, without missing a beat, almost as though he’s burping instead of violently expelling the contents of his stomach all over his clothes and my carpet. I wonder if most kids are like this and we don’t become babies about hurling until we’re older. Or maybe it’s just me who sucks at it.