Even though Dorie-bot the roomba vacuumed the kitchen and living room yesterday, the house desperately needed vacuuming again today. So I pulled out the hated red vacuum and tackled the job myself. I parked Campbell in his high chair to eat a snack to keep him out of the way.
Once I finished vacuuming, I pondered mopping the floor in the kitchen, even though I just did it on Monday, but since Campbell had started screeching in frustration, I decided not to. I popped him out of the seat, cleaned up the banana slices off the floor and sat in the living room with the baby and his toys. Not five minutes later he barfed.
My helpful husband, who was sitting on the sofa working on taxes, said, "Oh yeah, there was puke in his crib when I got him up from his nap. But it wasn't a lot." I went in to check it out; his who crib was covered. I yelled "If I had known that he had thrown up once, I wouldn't have fed him a snack" at my husband, who just shrugged.
Thus commenced the morning of vomit - the floors in the kitchen, living room and Campbell's bedroom got hit. I was so glad I hadn't wasted any time mopping. That would have just added insult to injury.
Of course, in true kid form, Campbell is now acting like nothing was ever wrong with him, motoring around the house behind his beloved big sisters. I, however, still have not taken a shower, am still in grubby clothes that I put on this morning, and smell slightly of vomit. Bleah.