The celebration of two

Vince’s birthday was yesterday. An event heralded with much excitement by me. And M. I might have been more excited than anyone though. It might as well have been a coronation or the swearing-in of a new president.

There was a wee party at his school and I organized treats and cake. I left work early, got him a cute balloon and headed to school to surprise him. And it was quite a surprise. He was so surprised, actually, that he got a little upset. I think he thought we were going to leave and leave him there. So he shyly hid his head during “Happy Birthday” and refused to eat any cupcake.

Finally, after much reassurance, he was convinced to nibble on some cupcake. Really, more licking the icing than anything. It was the nicest party, his teachers even bought him a gift. M and I split up, planning to meet at Publix to pick up some necessities.

And post-parking, as V and I were walking to the store, the vomiting commenced. Remarkably it was the same colour as the icing he ate earlier (a little detail I know you were just begging for). And it just didn’t stop. And sadly, the whole thing made me laugh. Because really, what on earth do you do in that sort of situation?

Laugh?

Cry?

Laugh?

Or maybe laugh and cry?

Puke everywhere. Up my pants (splash back… nice). Down my shirt. All over him and in a puddle at my feet. Next to that car parked in the handicapped spot.

I just have to hand it to my Lake Nona Mammas. Two approached me in the throes of the hurl and offered both help and baby wipes. Thank you sisters. I wish I knew who you were, as I would probably make you my best friends. Those really are the kind of friends I want to have. The type that will go up to random woman with vomiting child and offer assistance.

Thank you ladies. Thank you.

30 minutes later, V was appearing fine. I mean, he was really fine. Super fine. Super fly! Fly!

Um, so then why did we have a repeat puke-a-thon 2 hours later? Lord only knows. But it seemed appropriate since it follows us everywhere. Usually in public.

We thought he was fine, but as we ordered it became apparent that he wasnt feeling well at all. There was the clinging. The hugging. The silence. The no smiling. The lethargy. And then finally? The vomit.

And that was followed by the total strip down in the ladies bathroom, a clothes rinse, a stroller rinse and the a surprise reappearance by the birthday boy himself naked, clad only in a diaper and in a damp stroller.

Daddy took him home. Mummy and Tita followed with M’s dinner. M broke his toe. We ate cake without Little Man. The presents languished on the table. We slept.

I woke up at 1:30 this morning to the sounds of “Mumma downstairs? Bottle? Milk? Waffles?” and so there we were. V was fine. He ate and then we went up to bed. My bed. Not his. And the wiggle-worm body wiggled all night long. I now understand that he takes after his Daddy. Restless. Geez.

And so that? That was the unofficial celebration of Two.

The official Celebration will take place tomorrow. Unofficially it is called ‘birthday do-over’. There will be Nemo. There will be family. There will be no stress like last year. There will be swimming and relaxing and sangria. Oh, and some cake and a few balloons.

There will be no puking? I happily accept your wishes winging my way…

xoxo a.m.

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