My child threw up in my mouth today.

You read that correctly.

MY CHILD.  THREW UP. IN MY MOUTH.

It started off so sweetly innocent.  He sat on the bed, shaking a sock happily while I folded laundry & I got the urge to learn over to play with him.  So I did.  Because I don’t fight those urges – I soak them up when they come crashing in.  So we’re giggling, smothering eachother in slobber, I tickle him, &….

MY CHILD THREW UP IN MY MOUTH.

At first, I didn’t know what happened.  ”What the hell is THAT taste?” I asked & then OH EM GEE ::brain click::  The worst part?  Having to hold it in my mouth until I could get to the bathroom to spit it out.  Sour.  Acid.  In my mouth.  If you’ve never tasted regurgitated Nutramigen…well, you’re one lucky folk.  It tastes like hot, moldy, sour athletic socks worn by an entire football team for an entire season, then left out in the summer rains & 105-degree heat, then blended into a HOT MARGARITA OF SKANKY ASS.

I’m not exaggerating.

I ran to the bathroom, Harry on my hip, & spit into the sink.  & spit.  & spit.  & spit until I was pretty sure I was spitting out pieces of my own stomach, & then I took Nate’s powered toothbrush to my teeth, tongue, cheeks, & even that dangly thing in the back (enter gag reflex jokes here, here, & here.  Just don’t tell Nate).  & immediately felt zero sympathy for myself & all the sympathy in the world for Harrison, who lives with this on a daily basis.  No wonder he’s so pissy sometimes.

As someone so aptly deemed it on Twitter, I feel like I just got hazed into parenthood.  7 months later.