{We Made is 2 Years, 4 Months, 2 Weeks and 4 Days}

Anyone who knows me understands how dealthy I am afraid of throw up.  Terrified.  If you are feeling sick, don't let me know, because I will run.  I will leave you to fend for yourself and I will find safety in those who are feeling healthy and not at all nauseous.

And once I got pregnant and had my boys, I always wondered what would happen when one of my own children threw up.  Would I run?  Would I be totally freaked out and not be able to help them?  And over the past few months, I started really thinking about it.  I started to fear it.  It was looming.  I knew it was bound to happen soon. 

And it did.  We made it 2 years, 4 months, 2 weeks and 4 days.  But today, Friday the 13th (probably not a coincidence), today it happened. 

Luke threw up. 

Three times. 

In the car. 

All over himself.  All over the back of my seat. 

And I was stuck.  I couldn't run.  Unless I wanted to fling my body from a moving car.  But in the end, I didn't want to run.  My first-born, my high maintenance, crazy, sweet boy was sick.  He was crying because he didn't know what was happening.  And this mama was there for him.

So we pulled over.  I quickly opened his door, wiped of the throw up with my hands, used a blanket from the backseat to deal with some of the spillage and directed Chat on what to do next.  Closest place was my parents house (they were out of town), so off we went.  We got him inside, cleaned him in the bath, washed his clothes, wiped down his carseat and placed him in his diaper on towel on the couch and let him watch Thomas the Train and prayed for no more puke.

{Luke set up on the couch after what will forever be called the "incident"}

So far so good.  Luke has had no fever and has been acting like himself.  He has loved the sprite we have let him drink and is starting to eat a few saltine crackers.  I am hoping this is the end of this...for his sake and mine.