Saturday night Carrie, Shane and I went out to see our old friends Cammy and Erwen! Cammy just ended her final two weeks at her old accounting job from hell. There were a few days between her old job and her new job, so we arranged to meet at Panera. I wanted to show off my son, and I'm pretty sure she just wanted to get out of the house after being forced to work from dawn till dusk and sometimes midnight or later (who'd have thunk accountants could have such military-esqe hours?).
I missed seeing a text, and my motley crew showed up 15 minutes before Cammy and Erwen. Shane used this time to run up, down, and all around the restaurant with Dad in tow. I was hoping to wear him out some before my friends arrived. If I could bottle whatever my son runs on, I wouldn't be typing this. I'd be out running a marathon. The boy does not stop and Saturday was no different. When my friends arrived, the only thing that kept my son in his high chair was a firmly fastened belt and lots of plastic straws and lids to chew on.
Shane sat still enough for Carrie and I to wolf down our food. Cammy and Erwen, having no plans to start a family of their own yet, ate at the leisurely pace of people who are not concerned that a toddler will somehow get into trouble before they can finish. At one point, Shane started to fuss and Erwen subdued him with a magic finger. I don't know if it was a Star Wars reference ("This is not the attitude you're looking for") or if Erwen's finger just looked funny, but Shane sat and stared quietly long enough for me to finish the last few bites of my sandwich (Thanks, Erwen).
Everything was going well. I was finally catching up with some old friends. Carrie and I were out of the house. Shane shoved a straw down his throat and made himself gag.
Blargh!
Orange baby vomit (orange!?!?) poured fourth in epic proportions. My wife jumped to lean Shane forward and pat his back. I snatched Carrie's empty soup cup and shoved it under Shane's chin.
We were too late. Shane managed to vomit all over himself. There was puke all over his clothes, high chair, and I was holding a soup cup over half full of leftovers. Actually, the mostly full soup cup was pretty impressive! My son can pack his sweet potatoes away (the source of the orange for those who were wondering).
Carrie and I had to pack Shane up in a hurry as the vomit soaked through his clothes. We hadn't brought a change of clothes, because we were so close to home and wrongly figured nothing would happen. Carrie bit the bullet and picked up our drenched and smelling child, while I said our goodbyes. A casual acceptance of poop, pee, and vomit is an acquired parenting skill and I bet we left Cammy thinking "I know I'm not ready for THAT!" ha ha ha. I just hope it didn't ruin anyone's appetite when I proudly lifted the soup cup filled with vomit to inspect Shane's handiwork.
Team Mike and Carrie had Shane bathed and ready for bed half an hour later.
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