On a quiet Saturday evening...

I made it exactly seven months and five days.

Seven whole months of being meticulously cautious in the handling of my girl after feeding her had resulted in not a single instance of being vomited on anywhere above my collar bone. I truly thought I was out of the woods regarding this danger. That was my first mistake. The second was actually lifting my girl high over my head too soon. I looked up at her smiling, giggling face, my own mouth opened wide with a smile to match her's. But then…I could see it coming. Straight. For. My. Mouth. Time slowed and I began to wax philosophical on the danger coming my way and the meaning it held. However, thanks to lightning-fast reflexes (and due to a HUGE aversion to vomit), I managed to turn my head just in the nick of time before It hit. I felt the tidal wave of warm white-ish yuck collide with my left cheek and splash into my hair, down both the front and back of my shirt, and onto the couch behind me. With one infected eye tightly shut I managed to put the still-smiling girl gently back down while yelling for Kenny to come save me. Fearing a true disaster, he ran in geared with paper towels, sponges, disinfectant, etc. He got one look at me and busted up laughing, which he continued to do as he helped me clean myself up. Getting it out of my eyes was bad, but at least my mouth stayed fresh. Small victory, but a victory none-the-less. I’ll take it.

I feel I’ve learned a valuable life lesson here regarding parenthood. Don’t get comfortable or let your guard down because just when you think you’re safe and that all is well, your kid is just waiting to metaphorically throw up on your face.

Happy Monday.