My Life as a Dad Vol. 1 No. 1 Supporting Other Dads

Primero de Mayo. A reason to celebrate Cinco de Mayo early and eat Mexican food and desert with good friends. That's what I thought anyway. See, we gathered tonight at our church and had dinner, played with our kids outside on the playground, inside the gym with a ball, and smacked a pinata. Little did I know the night would end in such catastrophe. Here's how it played out: All kids under 5 weren't able to get more than 3 pieces of candy out of the pinata, so the youngest of the adults, who will remain nameless, busted it open. The cornucopia of candy that spilled out was quite impressive and any little kid with even a basic knowledge of what candy means went after it, Nick included. Being that it was almost time to go and he had gone WAY too long without a diaper change, we allowed Nick to suck on a piece of a lifesaver while we changed him. Oh, and don't call CPS or judge us with the next piece of the story. Since we are such stellar parents, he gagged on the lifesaver while he was laying down being changed, and we continued to let him suck on it. Unbeknown to us, those multiple gags were just priming the charge. Once the cleaning was complete and the pajamas were zipped, I picked up the claymore to leave our fiesta. Just as I lifted him off of the chair he had been laying on, and my shirt spread wide at the collar, my wonderful son proceed to spew what can only be described as a major hazmat incident entirely down my shirt.

Let me pause and explain a critical piece of information. I have had old breast milk aroma spit up projected onto my face, neck, and down my shirt before. I've cleaned up all manner of food items from restaurant floors and patios. I've stood in the same water at the same time that baby poop has resided in. I've even been peed on my bare stomach by a little boy's geyser. I have not, however, ever, ever, ever had adult smelling vomit spewn down my shirt, onto my neck, and permeate my nostrils in the way that I did tonight. I've seen and dealt with plenty of drunks while I'm at work with all kinds of bodily fluids on them, but I glove up. I've seen a few major fatalities with major organs where they shouldn't be, doesn't bother my stomach a bit. But puke on me? Nope, nope, nope. Back to the events of the evening.

It was at this point, as I held Nick at arm's length and pleaded with my wife, as I had abandoned all relation to my firstborn, for her to take "her son" and she was unable to physically hold anything over five pounds as her body was convulsing from laughter, that I saw what true support of a fellow father looked like. My good, no, there's an upgrade in status necessary here, great friend Kevin reached out and took my chunk covered son from me as my eyes were welling up from the stench. Not only did Kevin remove my poor son who was scared and almost crying from the breakdown of his father's mental capacities, he went one step further. I had attempted to remove some of the vomit from the inside of my shirt by pulling it away from my body and in doing so felt, as I am again now do through the retelling of this nightmare, pieces of Nick's regurgitation falling slowly down my neck, chest, and stomach. I then pushed my shirt back against my body to stop the flow and unintentionally pressed said pieces deeper into my chest hair. At some point, unknown to me as time seemed to stand still, Kevin had passed off Nick to Katy and gotten some paper towels. Throwing caution to the wind, Kevin, this highly trained and veteran father of two more months than I, jumped to my aid and attempted to wipe off some of the vomit from around my neck so I would stop flailing about like a fish out of water. It is with the utmost sincerity that I offer my apologies to him for probably yelling at him that his efforts were causing me to feel the spew bits roll around on my collarbone area and yell "I feel it running through my chest hair!" and rip away from his assistance. For this, I am so, so, sorry Kev.

Unable to stop my own bile from building in the back of my throat, I tried distracting myself by doing what I felt was necessary, help clean up what had fallen through my shirt and onto the floor. Big mistake. Bile increase at an exponential rate. While Katy was distracted by trying to find one of our iPhone's to capture this moment in history, I took someone's advice and left the building to remove the source of most of my soon to come night terrors, my shirt, and not do so in as public a place as a church hall. I ran to our truck, removed my shirt, threw it on the rear floorboard, cranked up the air, and rolled down all the windows. I quickly realized the stench was still way too close and grabbed the shirt to throw it as far back in the bed of the truck as was possible. Embarrassed, still smelling the mustard gas on my chest and neck, and a little nipply, I sat in my truck as my scared son and grinning wife came to join me. I did offer apologies to all the ladies as they exited the building and saw me attempting to cover myself and my half-nude body as they walked by. Great night to pick the closest parking spot I might add. Before closing this story, I must say, don't hold any ill will toward Katy for the pleasure she took in the situation or anyone else who laughed and enjoyed it. I'm sure it was quite a site to behold to see a 240 pound CHP officer gagging, dry heaving, and whining from a little throw up. Again, it was not baby spit up, it was full on adult smelling vomit.

Oh yeah, and I decided to break up my few and far between blogs into categories I can more easily follow. This way I can keep this going in a series for as long as I can [;p[to monitor my own progress or regression. In this case, regression.