I am 30. I have been alive for over 11,000 days. Today marks the one that holds the most incredibly disgusting moment of them all.
My youngest is 1 year, 5 months, and 1 day old and he just grown-up-puked all over me 5 times as I was carrying him to his bed. Luckily Kyle was home on his supper break when the Sandlot carnival scene went down in my own house. Macs was screaming, I was gagging/crying/laughing, Everly ran into the hallway, looked at me and started gagging herself, and Kyle’s eyes were huge when he came around the corner to see the horrific scene.
The super cute runner my mother in law gave us is officially toast. There’s no coming back from that for a piece of carpet. Luckily my Chuck’s and clothes fit in a washing machine. Had it been any shirt other than one I’d only worn once it would’ve been neatly placed in a trash can. Surely within 3 washes or so those clothes will be clean.
I’ll stop there. That’s enough gross for one night.
I’m married to the most phenomenal man on the planet. There is no longer a trace of puke in my house thanks to that guy!
It’s amazing to think of all the things that have happened at the top of those stairs. The biggest puke-fest of my whole life, my moment of greatest fear and greatest relief in the midst of Hads choking on an unknown object (which ended up being a quarter), the place I sprinted to when Everly ran into my room screaming in the middle of a night terror and me jumping straight up from a dead-sleep to lunging forward in an effort to save her as she was half asleep and sprinting straight for the edge of the stairs.
Man…and we’ve only lived here two years! Here’s to hoping for better top-of-the-stairs memories!
Yeah I could take this lots of places…wear and tear on the stairs, if walls could talk, some interesting analogy about the climb to the top and life…but that’s it for today. I’ve been too traumatized to continue writing. (Ha! Bet you didn’t think this was going to be the story that went along with the picture!)