My 14-month-old daughter, in the span of one months time, has had ear tubes put in, cut eight teeth and has grown almost one inch. Needless to say, she’s been an absolute peach, sleeping through the night, not cranky at all and eating like a half-starved stray cat. Yes, I’m being sarcastic. Between the hair pulling, coughing ’til she vomits, spiking fevers, runny nose and less than no appetite, she still found it in her to be as cute and stubborn as ever.
She has finally started feeling better and has rediscovered her love of the park. Today, I picked her up from daycare and we went to the park to play on the slides. We pull up and she starts kicking her legs violently in the back seat, squealing at near deafening decibels and clapping her hands. We get out of the car and she runs towards the slides squealing and laughing. She slides down and while she sits on the end of the slide, she reaches over and starts messing with something on my denim capris. “What did you find?” I asked her. She continues to pick at my pants. Wait, what is she picking at…I’m not sure I want to know. I squeamishly bend down to investigate, as I don’t remember spilling anything on them today and I pulled them out of the dresser drawer this morning. Dried vomit. Dried freaking toddler puke has been caked to my pant leg all day. My husband, the wonderful man that he is, folded them up and put them in the drawer with clean clothes instead of washing them. While I’m standing in the middle of the park about to have a nuclear melt down, my daughter looks up at me and says “mama, muah” and blows me a kiss. All was right with the world, even the vomit on my leg.