Not for the squeemish

Yesterday I was driving along rockin out to Imagination Movers with the kids when suddenly I heard a disturbing sound. I looked in my rear view mirror and saw Camryn projectile vomit. I watched her do it three times before my brain registered to pull over. I yanked the wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes of the first side street I passed.

The smell had already permeated the car and I was scared to see what kind of mess I was dealing with. Camryn was of course crying and struggling to get the taste out of her mouth screaming: "No, like it, no, like it!"

My heart broke for her because she really didn't know what had happened. But at the sight of the gallons of vomit, I felt my stomach churning. I managed to unbuckle her in between dry heaves and immediately took all her clothes off. Thank God for SUV's because I was able to lie her down in the back, clean her up and change her out without worrying about the mess.

I kept her back there and tackled the vomit with a full package of wipes in hand. The stench was intensified and Dylan started gagging. It was like a bad car accident...although the sight of it was making him sick he couldn't take his eyes off it. "Why did she do that?" he asked while struggling to hold down his after school snack. The sound of him wretching triggered my dry heaves yet again.

I did the best I could with the mess and strapped Camryn back into her seat. I rolled down the windows despite the rain to try to air out the car but the chunk covered clothes residing in the back were making it difficult. I called John to share the excitement and Dylan piped up to tell his part of the drama: "Dad, I felt food coming up into my mouth but I didn't let it come out!"

In hind sight, I guess it could have been that much worse. Sounds like I avoided a potential chain reaction, with triple the mess to clean up.