A Tale of Two Mommies

…because more seems excessive…

All’s Well that…Ends

It was inevitable.  Actually, few things are as inevitable as this, yet I found myself watching the initiation of events occur in disbelieving slow motion.  The entire two-and-a-half hour car ride to see my husband’s family was blissful, aside from the brief stop to reattach the car seat after my son worked his magic.  My daughter slept because she’s good that way.  My son slept briefly, but when awake entertained himself with passing vehicles and singing before sleeping the remaining half-hour.  My husband and I chatted like married couples together over a decade do…when they still like each other despite mutual sleep deprivation.  The party also went well.  No other children but ours were present, but Mr. Man didn’t seem to notice.  Warrior Queen was vaguely unhappy all afternoon, but that isn’t terribly new.  She can be that way.  But, with every passing minute of content experienced by my family of four, an increasing creep of foreboding seeped.

We were thirty minutes into our return home.  My son was telling tales of the traffic.  I humored him with my agreement because I had no idea what he was saying.  Little Man was increasingly past the threshold of exhaustion, so what started as good humored giggles and pointing, amounted to other less endearing forms of entertainment.

My son gagged himself, belly chuckles with each more involved effort.  It was attention seeking, so my husband and I ignored him knowing full well where such things were headed.  We braced ourselves, and looked back that final time to see patriotic themed vomit flowing from his mouth from the berries he had earlier.  Cheer turned to sobbing spasms as we sought a rest area.  Kid clean-up was my responsibility; my husband taxed with the car.  Both were reasonably uneventful.  My daughter continued to sleep in the car…miracles do exist…  Mr. Man finally getting a grip, demonstrating all the sweetness that comes when a child wishes to lessen the potential angered rage of parents.  Tired and covered from random second hand vomit debris, I held my son as he cuddled into me; we waited for my husband to finish.

With everyone buckled, we were once again on our way home, almost an hour delayed.  The remaining journey blessedly uneventful if you exclude Little Man picking his nose and wiping his findings on the window.  My husband repeatedly pointing to the residual protein spill on my dress for the remaining duration of the drive…because that never gets old…

Once home, my daughter immediately awakened, screaming.  All annoying events include poop, this event no exception.  I happened to change her mid movement, but even as I anticipated the final remnants, it oozed everywhere and splattered, some on my eyelid. Mr. Man eventually turned in. Warrior Queen eventually stopped screaming. I eventually achieved a shower.  The final pieces of the evening a blur before I was able to greet my eyelids, but nothing was else was more welcome.

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