I was getting out of the shower. What’s that sound? I turned the fan off for a second to listen. It was Emma, calling me sadly, “Mummy, I’m throwing up!”
So, dripping wet and wrapped in nothing but a towel, I ran downstairs to find her mid-barf in the living room. I rushed her to the bathroom, positioned her over the toilet, tied her hair back, and wiped her hands with a towel.
The phone rang as I was wiping up the mess. I noticed the name and number on the call display. It was one of my clients with news of a potentially excellent screenwriting gig. I couldn’t bring myself pick up the phone. How could I? I was half-n@ked, mopping up vomit, while my kid was moaning and crying in the bathroom.Â
But I guess that’s the life of a WAHM, huh?
The first batch of laundry is in. Gack.
ETA: I just checked on Emma. She’s going to be okay, but the living room smells like vomitrotiouscarpetcleaner. :(
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