Daddy's Little Girl

You know what no one tells you before you have a kid? You’re going to get puked on. You should probably expect it with babies. The whole process of burping them is generally to cause them to throw up a little bit of what’s in their stomachs because they overate. That’s why they have burp rags after all.

No one tells you, though, you can expect your school-age children to barf on you. I don’t remember doing this to my parents. (Although I do recall my dad getting mad because I threw up on the way to the bathroom. I was running for it, but I didn’t get there in time. He wanted me to clean it up. Fortunately, my mom made him do it.)

At one o’clock Wednesday morning, there was a knock on the covers. “Daddy,” Onna said, “My tummy hurts, and I can’t get back to sleep.”

This was my first warning. I didn’t understand it. The kid complains about her stomach hurting all the time. It’s usually an act.

I got into bed with her intending to calm her down and get her to fall asleep in my arms. That usually works. I figured she really wanted some attention.

“I feel like I have to barf, but I can’t,” she said.

This was my second warning. I heard this one.

“Well, do you want to go try?” I asked.

“No. I can’t.”

Now, I know I should have made her get up and go, but sometimes your parenting skills just abandon you with no warning or explanation. The kid told me exactly what was going to happen. I’m the adult. I know better. But I did nothing.

Twenty minutes later we were almost asleep. Then she sat up and started fidgeting. This was my third and final warning. I stared sleepily at her. Then she stood up, took two steps towards the bathroom, then turned around and projectile-vomited onto me. Tuesday night’s dinner reappeared with the force of water from a fire hose. I sent the kid to the bathroom to finish puking while I got to clean it up. (My father is no doubt cackling vengefully.)

All this would be tolerable if it were the first time it happened. It’s not. This is the second. A year ago, she told me she wasn’t feeling well, then sat up and vomited into my lap. At least Wednesday morning I had a shield. I was under the blanket. The first time I got it straight.

Why doesn’t anyone warn you about this? And furthermore, if the kid has puked on a parent twice since her arrival here two years ago, why is it always on me? It’s happened twice now; shouldn’t she be sharing this joyful parental experience with her mother too? Not only has Jennifer not been puked on, she had no idea it happened to me Wednesday morning! She slept through the whole thing and was surprised to learn the next day her little girl had been sick.

It’s great that Onna is Daddy’s Little Girl, but can’t she give any of this sort of “love” to her mother? Ah well. To the victor go the, uh, spoils. Next time, I’ll heed the warnings.

Back to "The Married Life"
archive page

Back to "The Married Life"
main page