Oh Barf

Okay seriously though. The kid needs to stop barfing. The child is perfectly healthy (thank goodness), so I use the word "barf" advisedly. I realize that with respect to cheery, milk-guzzling little wiener people the preferred nomenclature is "spitting up," but let's call a spade a spade. Milky it may be, but barf is barf, and make no mistake about it. 

An oldie but goodie: Noodle at four months, barfing...she's
lucky she has me wrapped around her little finger.

When she started eating solid food I thought the barfing would slow down but as usual I was wrong. My sugar pumpkin barfs onto her pants. She barfs onto my shoulder. She's barfs while we're Skyping with my mom and she barfs while she's playing with blocks. When she's crawling around she's been known to do a little casual barf off to the side. 

I feel a song coming on. 

Barf on the couch and barf on the floor, 

barf down your front; don't stop, barf more!

Barf to the left and barf to the side, 

barf pooling below or barfed far and wide. 

Now in a haiku:

After a bottle

of nutritious formula

comes, like the rain, barf.

Between our also barf-happy cats and my daughter, I would conservatively estimate that I spend approximately 16 hours a day cleaning vomit off of surfaces. I split the rest of my time between poop, enthusiastically reciting ancient and oddly dark nursery rhymes, and having fitful dreams about running out of paper towels. 

I don't really mind though. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Thank God babies are so freaking cute. I'm especially partial to mine. 

The cats better get their s*** together, though, or I'm hurling them out the window. 

Hope you're having a great weekend!