It is in the recliner in front of the television with a beer, pretzels and a remote control. ‘
Or down on your knees, scrubbing vomit out of your carpet.
Welcome to life as a parent where the wretched acidic underbelly of responsibility waits for no man or sporting event.
My 2-year-old daughter works on a “three strikes and it’s coming out” policy when it comes to getting physically ill. Twice, she will tell you that she thinks she has to and twice you will dash with her in arm to the kitchen sink like a heroic soldier with a live grenade.
Think of her as a volcano. She might let out some puffs to let you know of an impending eruption but when it comes you are never prepared. The ground begins to rumble, steam protrudes from her eyes and my wife picks up this spewing Mount Vesuvius in a futile attempt to make it back to that sink.
I frantically load my other daughter, our dog and some of our irreplaceable valuables into the car and try to flee. I usually get halfway down the block when my wife summons me back.
My wife is the most terrific mom in the world. But my wife does not do children's internal distress. This is different from my mom. As a child, I would often get tummy flu one to two times a week, sometimes one to two times a night. My mom became a bed changing pit crew. One time, I clocked her getting new sheets on my bed and new clothes on me in 8.9 seconds before the lights were out and we were both back in bed.
My wife never made such promises. In fact, it was a given from the onset of parent that, come hell or high (well you know) that cleaning up after our ill children was going to be my gig.
And, not to brag, but I’ve become pretty good at it. On an average, I can have a room gutted and remodeled (new carpet, new drywall, a fresh coat of paint) in about two days.
I have an affinity for the sick kid. So, the other night when the same daughter came down with a cold and nasty cough, it was Daddy holding her in the recliner at 12:30 a.m., watching a movie. Maybe it is penance for all the times I got my mom out of bed or she drove me to the emergency room with a ear ache in the middle of the night, that I have a special spot in my heart for the vomitteer.
But it sure doesn’t leave much time to watch sports.
