Today was one of those times when we got to an indoor playground (that was super awesome bee-tee-double-you) and Carter got afraid of the wristband and he threw up. On me. On him. On the floor, and almost on the lady working behind the counter (who had to clean the floor). I feel like I should send her flowers or something. It couldn't have been fun to clean up half digested yogurt and almond butter. PLUS, it's a nut free facility, so we totally ruined that with his vomit too. I probably should have thought twice about bringing nuts internally.
This kinds of reminds me of the time yesterday, when Carter fell and got scared and threw up, and then I was convinced that meant he had a concussion so I called the doctor. Oh, yes, the puke landed right on me again. I guess it's just my life's work to get puked on. It's totally fine. Happily, though, there was no pukage at the doctor's visit yesterday. Just screaming. Screaming about getting measured, weighed, and getting his big ole dome measured (oh and there was that little thing called shots too, we won't get into that).
*Meanwhile, back at the playground (can you "meanwhile" when it's about the same person at two different times? I don't think you can, but whatever)* he fell off a bench and didn't flinch. He was sitting there next to his cousin eating a dehydrated pear, when he thought he'd scoot off. Only his shorts stuck to the paint on the bench and he face planted into the rug; I dashed over, scooped him up while heart-attacking, and then he looked at me like, "Mom, what's your deal? I'm fine, okay?" and proceeded to laugh like it was the funniest thing ever. Moms, how do you not have a stroke every day? These past two days make me feel like such a worrier. I know, I know "kids get hurt," but if you ask me, it happens way too often. And I'm always that overprotective hawk-mom guarding his every move too (apparently every so often I fail). These toddler months we've endured so far have been quite the eye opener. I don't really know what to, exactly, I just know that I would die if I had twins. I would die a legit death filled with a lethal combination of heart attacks and strokes.
Here's a little summary of all that rambling if you're too lazy to read it all, or if you got bored half way through:
Carter always throws up when he's scared. He sometimes throws up when he's sad. And he never doesn't throw up. We are a pukey bunch over here. Apparently I did the same thing when I was little, so I guess I got what was coming to me. Karma's a stitch.
So this was what I like to call a little double link up post. I'm linking up with Ellen, Brie, and Taylor's always.sometimes.never link up, AND at Two in Diapers Mommy-Brain Mixer