Sometimes motherhood is so disgusting

(warning: puke is mentioned in this post)

It started innocently enough.  After Matthew's nap this afternoon, we made a quick trip to the grocery store.  I only needed a few things, but as we were getting out of the car I noticed one of those cool car grocery carts, so I thought "eh, why not."  And let me tell you, my boy was entertained! I don't think we've used one of them before (dang, they are hard to maneuver), but I now realize it is the way to go next time we're doing a long grocery trip.  We got so many comments, "oh what a good driver you are!"; "wow- I like your car!".  It was lovely.  Perhaps the loveliest grocery trip we've had in a while.

Aww, look how much fun he's having!

So we're shopping, we're having fun.  There were a lot of samples being handed out, and we just passed them by, until we come upon a chex mix sampler. I think, well that'll be a nice little treat for Matthew, as I hand him the tiny little plastic cup of chex mix.  We continue along on our way.  I'm looking for contact solution (which was the whole reason we had to go to the store to begin with), and suddenly Matthew turns and give me the look.  My husband and I know this look well- it is never, ever followed by anything good.  In fact, some would say it is a very, very bad look.  In that moment from the time he gives you the look, to the time "it" happens, there is nothing but shear panic and terror inside me. 

Yup, one minute we're shopping, the next minute there's vomit all over my kids clothes and the shopping cart.  (In case any of you out there don't already know this about me: I do not handle vomit well.  I highly doubt anyone handles it "well", but I mean, it really creates an awful experience for me. When I was a teacher in a room of 2-year-olds, my assistants pretty much shoved me out the door when we'd have a sick little one there.  In the tiny-bite-of-spinach-turned-puke incident of 2009, Mike told me to go in the other room and don't come out until he says it's ok.  THAT'S how bad it is.)

You never want to be *that* mom.  The one with the sick-in-public kid.  But it happens.  And when it happens, you whip out your pack of baby wipes and go to work.  The clothes, the kid, the cart, the floor- clean it up with the wipes.  All the while, my poor child is saying "uh oh. Is ok? Is ok mama? Is ok? Ok, ok, ok" as if trying to convince himself, and me, that really in the grand scheme of things, it *will* be ok.

And it was.  We paid, when I got to the car I stripped him down to his diapers, and we rode home.

(for the carseat critics, I did adjust the straps before we left. I did a quick buckle job first to keep him from touching anything and snapped a picture first.)

In the end, all was well.

But man, motherhood is disgusting sometimes.